


A Strategic Proposal

by peterqpan



Series: Harringrove Works [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, implied sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterqpan/pseuds/peterqpan
Summary: When Her Majesty Queen of the Countries of the Wheel, Nancy, Steve Harrington's true love, makes a political match and begs his forgiveness, he soothes her conscience by pretending to love another.Unfortunately, nobody told Billy Hargrove that's why he received so many love letters, and he's here to accept Steve's proposal.“Hey,” William Hargrove III asked, leaning in close.  “So which of my many virtues did you fall for first?”“Oh, no,” Steve laughed, sticking to the point of the thing, which wasn’t Billy’s gleaming curls, golden tan, soft smile, or the way his muscles filled his soft-looking linen shirt.  “No, no.  No.  Y-you need to refuse.”William—Billy, Steve remembered—blinked at him, his wide grin fading.  “What?”Have something silly and schmoopy to get through 2020!  I'll update this every other day until it's done.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove Works [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003
Comments: 98
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rainy_sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_sunshine/gifts).



“Hey,” William Hargrove III asked, leaning in close. “So which of my many virtues did you fall for first?”

“Oh, no,” Steve laughed, sticking to the point of the thing, which wasn’t Billy’s gleaming curls, golden tan, soft smile, or the way his muscles filled his soft-looking linen shirt. “No, no. No. Y-you need to refuse.”

William—Billy, Steve remembered—blinked at him, his wide grin fading. “What?”

“Refuse the offer of marriage,” Steve repeated, ignoring a pang of guilt, and trying to look under the tent flap for any nosy people’s shoes. 

“...refuse the offer of marriage,” Billy said again, turning away to pour himself a drink.

“That brandy is for _ celebrations,”  _ Steve sighed. “It’s _ expensive.” _

“Why did you make me an offer of marriage,” Billy asked, after throwing back the whole—albeit small—glass. 

“I needed to convince Her Majesty I wasn’t ailing for love of her—”

“So you have need of me,” Billy said, to the glass. “I can help you—”

“I’m surprised she believed me, honestly,” Steve hissed, waving his arms. “We’ve barely _ met—”  _

“...we’ve met,” Billy said. “Several times, do you not—we were at school together. We danced at her coronation. I was in the hunting party that went north, we rode together for weeks—”

“That was you?” Steve frowned at the wall, trying to remember anything other than his heart feeling like it was slow-roasted as his queen secured a border through marriage. Billy poured himself another drink, and Steve grabbed his shoulder, hissing, “Look, do the honorable thing, just leave—” his head snapped sideways with the force of Billy’s fist, and he staggered, more startled than hurt. He stalked back to Hargrove, raising a hand to strike back, then halted, as Billy leaned heavily on the little table for brandy, and took a long shuddery breath. 

“I told everyone I would accept,” Billy laughed, tossing back his second brandy, and dropping to sit on the ground. “They’ll—”

“Why would you...” Steve sighed, rubbing his jaw, and Billy shrugged, his eyes downcast. “Eugh,” Steve groaned. “You’ll have to say you changed your mind. Tell them I’m unmarriageable.”

“Everyone said how lucky I was,” Billy laughed again. “They told me how polite I ought to be. I’ll never get another offer like this, after all—Sir Steven Harrington, friend and protector to Her Majesty—”

“If _ money  _ is your concern, I can ease that particular problem,” Steve bit out, and Billy made an odd noise in his throat, staring up at him.

“That—that was not the difficulty,” he said hoarsely, his smile going a little feral. “No.”

Steve began, guiltily, to wonder whether Billy Hargrove had some kind of dream he was quashing—to guard the queen, perhaps. Something Steve’s offer would have enabled him to do. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to _ trick  _ you,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the table, and Billy laughed for a third time, his gaze on his outstretched boots. “Why would you even think I was in earnest?!” 

“I apologize for my lack of humility,” Billy said, smiling, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and took another. “I’ve half a mind to accept anyway.”

“What?!” Steve whispered. “No! You can’t marry me for—for no reason!”

Billy’s smile widened, but he didn’t look happy. “You shouldn’t lie about some things, you know?” He waved the glass at Steve, who snatched it. “It’s not _ honorable.” _

“You wouldn’t dare,” Steve growled back. “Why would you even—”

“How’s it going in here?” asked Her Royal Majesty, Queen of the Cities on the Wheel, Nancy, Steve’s ideal love, walking into the tent. “I hope you know your own luck,” she told Billy, raising her eyebrows. 

“Wait,” Steve said, “Wait, wait, ah—”

“Of course I’ll cherish him,” Billy laughed, looking less like he was smiling, and more like he was baring his teeth. 

“Don’t be an idiot, man,” Steve breathed, and Billy smirked. Steve shot him a glare with all the fury he could summon, hoping to leave a pile of ashes in the man’s chair.

“You’re willing to sign, then,” Nancy said to Billy, unfurling a gilt scroll with a narrow-eyed glance between them.

“I hope my _ esteemed beloved  _ isn’t jumping before he looks,” Steve hissed.

“I’m sure such a _ respected knight  _ has only my happiness in mind,” Billy shot back, his smile widening, though his hand shook as he dipped the pen in the inkwell.

“Perhaps we should...walk together...a moment—” Steve waved a hand at the door of the tent, half frantic, half determined to get Billy Hargrove alone and throttle him. “Before making any _ rash decisions—” _

“Don’t question your good fortune,” Nancy told Steve, her eyes softening. “You are loved by many.”

Steve stared at her smile, remembering how relieved she’d looked when he’d told her he loved another—that she wasn’t breaking a love for the ages in her marriage for peace. She’d looked _ too  _ relieved, he’d thought, staring up at ceilings over the months, and she looked it again now, pressing his fingers around the pen. He looked over at Billy, who was pouring another drink—and then back to Nancy, his first love, and, he suspected, his last. 

“He doesn’t like the look of me so well as he’d thought,” Billy said hoarsely, finally offering Steve a way out, and Steve’s queen turned on him. 

“...that, I do not believe,” she said, her jaw clenched. “If aught goes amiss with this union, I am confident the fault does not lie with the captain of my Guard, my most trusted, most renowned—”

“Let us sign,” Steve said quickly, grimacing as Billy’s jaw clenched. “My doubts were unfounded.”

Billy stared at him, but allowed himself to be drawn forward as Nancy clasped his and Billy’s hands together. Billy’s hand was shaking. She watched as they dipped pens, and frowned at Billy’s hesitation, but Steve squeezed his hand, and he signed a big looping _ Hargrove,  _ his smile tight.

Nancy pushed them out of the tent to a rousing cheer—to Steve’s horror, his entire cacophony of squires had assembled, along with his fellow knights, and what looked like Billy’s family, and a whole entourage from the woman Nancy was marrying for the good of the country. Everyone cheered, and he smiled, for them. 

“This is...fast,” he hissed to Nancy, out the side of his mouth, and felt Billy’s grip nearly crush his fingers. 

“I had thought that’s what you wanted,” she whispered back. “You’ve kept this awfully quiet. If you want the pomp and circumstance, we can do a ceremony when we reach the capital.”

He did the math. “Six months,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. Surely, he thought, he could find a way to wriggle out in six months.

“It’s still official, of course,” she said, smiling as though he’d find that encouraging, and his heart plummeted like a rock down an empty well, banging against the sides at the earnest joy in her smile. “Signed and witnessed by the queen. You’re husbands. Would you like to go to your rooms now?” She leaned in, her grin going mischievous. “They overlook the gardens, not that you’ll likely spend much time on the balconies.”

Billy _ laughed,  _ rubbing his eyes, and Steve wondered wildly what he expected to get out of the arrangement—court standing, perhaps. The ear of the queen. In his rush to ease her mind, he thought numbly, he’d probably introduced a traitor to her court. An _ assassin. _

“I will be sure to appreciate the roses,” Billy told her, smiling at her around Steve. “Pretend with me, my love,” he hissed at Steve, who sighed, and smiled. Billy slowed, watching his face. “Give me a few rounds of combat with her, at least,” he asked as they walked across the grounds. 

“What?” Steve asked, alarmed.

“Let me win you. Let me _ try,”  _ Billy whispered, banging their shoulders together, and Steve bit his lips together and nodded, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

“There’s no other knights in this tournament,” he sighed, and Billy slid their fingers together, squeezing. 

“Then I have a fair chance,” he whispered back, and Steve frowned so hard at the ground that he stumbled as they walked, and Billy grabbed his arm to steady him. 

Steve swallowed, glaring over as Sir William of Hargrove kissed his hand.

Billy’s mouth quirked. “Trial by combat for your affections,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> [Reblog this fic!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/post/632882378090659840/a-strategic-proposal-16)  
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wonders why Billy married him, and whether he dares to be grateful.

Billy drank that first night until Steve wondered whether he’d drown. He was so soused Steve half-carried him to their room under the wary eye of Her Majesty, her stony-faced beau Barbra of Holland, and their bard, Jonathan Byers. 

“Is he...well,” asked Steve’s love, as the man he was now bound to in soul and body tried to start a fistfight with a suit of armor on the wall.

“He’s happy,” Steve gritted out, certain of _ that  _ even if he couldn’t imagine why a man would marry someone unwilling, and then act as though he was, in fact, the injured party. 

“He wanted you to ask him to dance,” remarked his queen, glancing his way, and Steve groaned. 

“Which I did, if you’ll recall, despite Robin’s return with news.” He’d done his best to play the role—leaning close as Billy rambled, returning sloppy kisses to his hair and ear, and even hand-feeding the drunken creature morsels of food when he’d dropped his knife under the table.

Billy had drawn Steve’s fingers into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut, and Steve had had to yank his hand back and stomp Billy’s foot hard under the table. Billy had only leaned closer, licking his lips as he ran his fingers up Steve’s thigh, and Steve felt a chill, suddenly, as the air of the Great Hall hit the sweat running from under his hair. 

  
  


That night, Steve fully intended to slam a door in Billy’s face, but he ended up pinned against it, Billy’s bulk heavy against him, Billy’s mouth hot and insistent when Steve was tired and cold. 

Steve let himself be pushed back on the bed, let urgent, shaking fingers strip off his clothes, and clutched at Billy’s curls as they tickled his thighs, Billy’s hot tongue flat along the underside of his cock. He covered his face as he came down his new, unwanted husband’s throat, his eyes stinging in the knowledge that somewhere else in the palace, Nancy was _ relieved. _

Billy pulled back once Steve had come, scooting to sit on the side of the bed, and Steve fought off his exhaustion, sniffling back tears, to wave him over. 

“Come here,” he said, beckoning. 

“Always fair, is Steven Harrington,” slurred Billy, his laugh a little bitter, and Steve rolled away, sighing.

“Don’t, then—”

Billy’s weight slammed into his back, nearly rolling Steve onto the floor. “No, no, do as you will. Have your way with me—” he trailed off, biting his lips together as Steve rolled on top of him. 

“Will this do?” Steve asked, gripping the man’s prick, and Billy nodded, staring up as Steve rubbed his thumb over the tip. Billy’s hips rocked up, his eyelashes fluttering as he moaned, and Steve felt some small satisfaction as he worked the interloper in his bed into shuddering pleas. Once he was finished, he climbed off, and went to wash his hands, blowing out the lamps and crawling back in to lie along the edge of the bed. As he began to drift off, he felt a soft brush at his nightshirt, and then a stealthy squirm up behind him as Billy settled to breathe against his shoulder. 

Steve readied himself to throw a stray arm off, expecting an attack for long minutes after Billy’s breathing had steadied and slowed. He sighed, turning his head against the pillow. _ Why accept my proposal,  _ he thought, dimly furious under the wet weight of knowledge that it didn’t matter who he married, if it was not to be one he loved. 

He didn’t know much about the Hargrove holdings. He hadn’t felt he’d have to learn. He’d find they were short on money, he suspected, or favor, or had a scandal in the family. He almost hoped for the last—it seemed more human, somehow, to trap someone in a marriage to save a family reputation than for simple greed.

The next afternoon, Steve began to remember who Billy Hargrove _ was.  _ He was deliberately annoying, dragging Steve’s attention away from Nancy—and Steve let him, turning when he felt a presence at his shoulder, and listening to whatever half-baked tirade Billy began to get his attention. ‘Began’ was the key word, because when Steve turned to listen, and asked questions, Billy trailed off into anything that came to mind, his smile startled. He was obnoxious and out of place, but when Steve’s mind strayed to his queen, it was a balm to hear Billy Hargrove in his ear, his warm breath incorrectly identifying game birds.

“Do you hunt at _ all,”  _ Steve laughed, his cheeks sore from the unaccustomed smile. “Badgers do not _ fly.” _

“Maybe it was a deer,” Billy whispered back, “—look, there’s another one!” He squinted dramatically at the sky as the partridges dodged arrows. He grinned over, his smile going soft as he watched Steve lean against a tree, unsteady with mirth.

It was...ridiculous, and sad, Steve thought, how pleasant it was to see Billy looking back at him. He’d been used to watching his queen govern, her eyes always ahead, with Steve trailing behind. Billy’s gaze followed Steve the same way, smiling at the dog Steve spotted in a page’s arms, and smirking at Steve’s boredom during long sessions of court. He leaned in to drop the names of people Steve didn’t recognize, challenged him to a training bout when he was about to leap forward and throttle an ambassador—and made time for his little sister, Max Hargrove, their newest page.

Steve found himself watching back.

When Billy mumbled to a halt in the training yard, his gaze on his own hands trapped between Steve’s, Steve began asking questions back—details on the ridiculous-sounding stories Billy had been distracted from telling, to make Billy’s eyes and smile widen in surprise. 

“Tell me more of this lamia,” Steve would whisper, as Billy licked his lips, gazing at Steve’s. 

“A—a horrid. Beast,” he stumbled, then laughed. “There are records. It slaughtered four towns, and cracked the bones of many children before I slew it.”

At this, none the wiser, Steve had pulled him closer, whispering, “A feat indeed,” against Billy’s lips. After that every time Billy spoke he described a stronger, faster, more brutal monstrosity, until Steve began to recognize the look, and knew to cup the back of Billy’s neck and kiss him ‘til they ran out of breath.

When they were silent in attendance at functions, and Billy would reach over to tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear, Steve mouthed ‘Thank you,’ to watch Billy’s eyes widen, and his grin grow smug.

As the days turned into weeks, Steve began to consider _ trusting  _ the man who had taken advantage of his awkward circumstances and _ married  _ him, and eventually he sought news from Robin. 

“I haven’t heard much,” she said, frowning over at Steve’s husband, who had stripped his shirt off after sparring, dumped a bucket of water over his head, and was turning this way and that in ridiculous postures, glancing sidelong at Steve. 

“There must be something,” Steve said again. “I begin to think my humble savings and respect were his only goals, but if it be worse—”

“You think all of...this,” Robin waved at Billy, shivering, and watching them, his arm muscles flexed, “—is pretense?”

Steve sighed, put his hand to his mouth, and whistled to watch his moronic husband laugh.

“...if it be a show, it is a good one,” Robin said, wrinkling her nose.

“I would like to believe he is...odd,” Steve tried, squinting.

She laughed, scraping mud off her shoe. “Mercurial?” she suggested. 

“To agree to marry a stranger,” Steve nodded, and Robin frowned at Billy again. “If he is...of inconstant mind,” Steve said softly, “—if he is...fickle, it does not inspire trust.”

“...no,” she sighed. “No. You are...confident his...admiration is feigned?”

“I…” Steve considered the boy he remembered in the man before him. “He was a bully, in school.”

Her gaze at Billy sharpened, and she leaned her head close. “I will investigate.”

When they parted, Billy dashed up, tossing his arms around Steve’s neck. “How does fair Robin?” he asked.

“Gathering intelligence on you,” Steve told him, and Billy let go, then ran to catch up to Steve’s gait. 

“Why?” he asked.

Steve snorted softly. “Why would you insist on marriage to one who dislikes you, and asks only for escape?”

“Why make an offer of marriage to one you despise,” Billy asked, slamming their shoulders together. “You can’t think this was some sort of _ plan.” _

Steve dropped an arm around him, squeezing him close. “I never _ despised  _ you,” he muttered, stumbling at the awkward way he held Billy against him, but he didn’t let go, and Billy didn’t squirm away. 

When they closed the door to their rooms behind them, Billy was pink-cheeked, his gaze wandering from Steve’s lips to his eyes. 

“May I kiss you,” he asked, “—though no one is watching, and neither of us are drunk?”

“You may always kiss me,” Steve told him, realizing it was true as he pushed his husband against the door, at ease with the familiar warmth of Billy’s moustache and warm muscles in a way he’d never been in Her Majesty’s arms. There was no tension with Billy, only heat, and their throaty laughter as they tried to disrobe without lifting their fingers from each others’ skin.

They made it to the bed, finally, rocking against each other as the bells sounded for midday. When they finished, as ever, Billy flopped across Steve’s chest like a fish—limp and clammy—but his smile was so smug and bright Steve allowed it, sliding his fingers through Billy’s sweaty curls. 

“How did you come to pick my name,” Billy whispered, turning his head to kiss the edge of Steve’s hand. “Surely there was someone you...admired, at least—”

“I needed someone she didn’t know,” Steve sighed, and Billy nodded, aware as ever that the ever present ‘she’ in Steve’s head was his queen. “Someone she’d believe I knew.”

“And you wrote the school?” Billy asked, laughing. “Dear Harrow, please supply a list of suitors for one Steven Harrington—”

“When I claimed to be—unbothered,” Steve laughed, his stomach sinking at the memory, “—when I suggested there might be...another, one I had hesitated to make my feelings known towards out of—”

“My name was mentioned,” Billy sighed. “Not by you.”

“By several people,” Steve agreed, remembering Sir Hagen’s rolled eyes, and his squire’s teasing. He stroked his thumb along Billy’s cheek, in hopes of lifting his shuttered expression. 

“And you wrote,” Billy laughed hoarsely. “Lies, to trick me.”

“I didn’t!” Steve cried, grimacing. “My love letters are read aloud to laugh at, usually, I didn’t think I’d _ win your heart.” _

“They were laughable,” Billy agreed, his eyes wet, and Steve punched his shoulder, then squeezed him tightly, and kissed his ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> [Reblog this fic!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/post/632882378090659840/a-strategic-proposal-16)  
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve starts to realize some things, but he worries he's waited too long.

Steve was grateful, guiltily, that it had been Billy. Billy Hargrove, loud and brash, earnestly ready to return a love Steve had never felt. “I’m sorry to have hurt you,” he whispered into Billy’s curls, yanking him closer. 

“I never thought I’d hear from you again, after the ass I made of myself in school,” Billy laughed. “Let alone an offer of marriage.”

Perhaps he could grow to be satisfied with Billy in his life, Steve thought, kissing his husband until the man returned nearly to clay in his arms. He ran his fingers down Billy’s neck, and over his chest, in no particular hurry as his husband panted and curled into him, and Steve watched him, testing the word 'love' in his head.

“I—I am glad to—” Steve began, and Billy looked up, hazy-eyed, then moaned under Steve’s mouth. “I am relieved it was you,” Steve murmured against Billy’s neck, and Billy laughed, but his face heated under Steve’s kisses. 

“I am glad you never read the replies to my letters,” Billy whispered, smiling.

“Why?” Steve asked, pausing, and wondering whether they were still at the bottom of his wardrobe where he’d flung everything that arrived during the queen’s endless series of marriage ceremonies. Billy leaned up for a kiss, and Steve reminded himself to dig out the letters, now months old, and give them a read. “I think I will love you,” he told his husband, who made a weird noise mid-kiss. 

“Don’t take on an impossible challenge,” Billy mumbled, sighing. “You can’t help seeing the truth of me, any more than I could resist riding to you on the strength of a few dishonest letters.”

“No, I—I am beginning to, I think,” Steve told him, lifting his husband’s head to frown into his eyes.

Billy bit his lips, searching Steve’s face and smiling a disbelieving and unsteady smile. “I won’t hold my breath,” he whispered, and Steve groaned, and licked Billy's cheek until he yelled and flailed. 

Robin pulled him aside again after he gave up on pushing around the remains of a late dinner. “He was...badly treated at home,” she said. “Passed over for honors. His training was...biblically harsh.”

Steve’s heart leapt, and he remembered the letters—Billy was a better liar than he was, he suspected, but there might be truth in them, if what Robin had found was all there was to find. _If all it is is that he'd rather be at my side, I'll—I'll go to church,_ he swore.

“He would be valuable as a dissonant,” Robin said. “He may be bitter. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

“He is, some,” Steve acknowledged, _giddy_ with the idea that Billy might be exactly as he appeared, and in love with him.

“He used your proposal as an escape strategy,” she emphasized, and Steve nodded, dismissing the alarming images of Billy with ties to hostile countries, or a secret background in assassination.

“I knew it was something,” Steve assured her, proud, and she punched his shoulder so heavily he staggered into the wall. 

“He pretends affection,” she hissed, and Steve bit his lip, thinking, then shook his head.

“No, he feels some...warmth, towards me,” he said, remembering Billy’s cautious smile that morning as Steve pulled him in for a last kiss. 

“Some... _warmth,”_ Robin repeated, and Steve waved her away, running down to find Billy in the training yard, with designs of knocking him in the mud, and washing him thoroughly later.

  
That night, Billy came in their rooms quietly, and didn’t immediately drape himself over the back of Steve’s chair. “I’ve been given a quest,” he said, and Steve turned to face him, fondness welling up like a geyser at Billy’s startled frown, and his clumsy, exhausted hands trying to unfasten his armor. Steve trotted closer to lift Billy’s chin for a soft kiss, and then helped him unsheathe himself from his carapace. 

“What is the quest?” he asked. 

“The Serpent of the Fens,” Billy said, his cheeks bunching under Steve’s hands as he smiled wide at Steve stopping to kiss his stubble. 

“Oh,” Steve breathed, pressing their foreheads together. “I would come best it for you, but I’m to ride with the entourage north—” 

“As if I need you,” Billy grumbled against his mouth, and Steve pulled him into a tight hug. 

“I’ll miss you, next to me,” Steve realized aloud. “Be safe.”

“Will I be rewarded for my safe return?” Billy asked, laughing, and Steve lifted him off the ground with the force of his embrace. 

“Fit for a king,” Steve promised, and Billy curled around him that night in bed, with Steve pulling him in closer.

When Steve returned two weeks later, hungering to get his arms around his husband, Billy had already ridden out again. 

“He performed well,” Her Majesty said. She sounded a bit crisp, Steve would realize later, but in the moment he felt only pride. When Billy crawled into bed behind him two mornings later, before it was light, Steve pulled him close, kissing along his ear and jaw, and feeling him shake with exhaustion.

Billy was quiet the next morning, falling back willingly as Steve pushed him down against the bed to touch him everywhere—but strangely _still,_ for Billy Hargrove. He hung back all day, until Steve blocked his path and reeled him in, and Billy finally relaxed in his arms, laughing. 

The next morning he was gone _again,_ and Steve stomped in to guard duty only to have his queen and his fellow knight look at his face, and burst out laughing.

“Somebody’s a storm cloud,” said Robin, and Steve sighed. 

“I should thank Your Majesty for the long honeymoon,” he said, “—but I’ve gotten used to him. _Here.”_

“Now I’m not busy abroad,” Robin told him, “—you’ll see more of me.”

Steve nodded, honestly pleased, but his hand itched to reach over and brush Billy’s. “He was exhausted, last night,” he sighed. “If I’d known he was leaving again, I’d have got leave to join him.”

“You’re needed here,” said his queen.

Billy didn’t return for a week, and then two. Steve tried to wheedle the details of his location out of Robin, and then his queen, but both pretended ignorance until he demanded to know. 

“It’s diplomacy,” Nancy said, her jaw set. “Help with a monster on the borders of Hagenton. If you go charging in, they’ll think we don’t trust them.”

“And you sent _Billy?!”_ Steve yelled back, but Robin pushed him back out of the door. 

“You do not yell at the queen,” she said, and Steve groaned, running his fingers through his hair until it was wild. Robin sighed. “I will find out where he is, and send it to your room.”

“Thanks,” he said, the fury in him still drawn up to strike, but now met with the need for gratitude. He nodded awkwardly, and stalked back to his—and Billy’s—rooms. 

There was a small shape slumped against their door, which resolved itself into a squire, then, into Billy’s sister. “Max,” Steve called.

She sniffled, and threw the heavy book she was holding to thump on his foot, which let him know more than anything else that she was distraught—she had fantastic aim, as a rule. “You _bastard,”_ she whispered.

She was also as polite as her brother. “What?” Steve asked, dropping to a crouch. “What’s happened?”

“You sent him out again,” she said thickly. “He-he nearly died, what do you—what do you want from him?! You…” Steve tried to help her up, and she smacked his hand away. “You told him you _loved_ him,” she hissed. “He was gloating for _days,_ why would you—”

“That was...wrong,” he admitted, sitting cross legged to face her. “I—I didn’t expect—it was—” he felt his face reddening, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t have predicted _Billy.”_

Her eyes narrowed. “What, you...you’re saying…”

Steve waited, blinking at her.

“You didn’t _know?”_ she breathed. “About—that he—how could you not _know—”_

Steve clenched his fingers in the coarse fibers of the carpet, groaning. “Do you know where he is?”

“...not exactly,” she muttered, crossing her arms. 

“You know he isn’t safe,” he said, nodding, and tried to keep his jaw from clenching. He frowned over his shoulder, back down the hall. “I will ride out as soon as I know, and bring him back.”

She studied his face. “But you’re a _liar,”_ she said hoarsely.

“I lied,” he nodded, grimacing, “—for—” he opened his mouth to say _good reasons,_ but couldn’t make it stick. Imagining Billy’s startled smile as he opened Steve’s love letters now brought up a burning shame. “I have a lot to make up for,” he said instead, “—and I’ll bring him home.”

Max swallowed, her shoulders relaxing a little as her hands came unclenched from her trousers. “Good,” she said huskily, reaching a foot over to kick his knee.

Once she’d tromped away, her footsteps louder than knights three times her size, he dug through his wardrobe for Billy’s letters. 

They were fat with layers of cheap, folded paper, and there were, he’d thought at the time, far too many—four and five a week right up until the day the contract was signed. Steve sighed, braced himself, and opened one at random. 

He was treated to a bemused but detailed set of answers to questions he vaguely remembered asking. “In regards to your inquiries after my horse,” it began, and continued on with its height in hands, name (Why _Bellerophon,_ Steve asked himself, after studying the letters in bewilderment), and favorite treat, which Steve now learned (months later) to be carrots. 

Billy was funny in his letters, Steve found, his eyes stinging as he laughed at a description of Max as a toddler, climbing across the beams in the Great Hall of Hargrove House, and Billy running around underneath her, holding a large basket and yelling insults out of sheer terror. 

He made reference to Steve’s life as though he knew it well, offering chicken for trade at dinners, and Steve was whirled away in his mind to the long tables at Harrow, and his dismay over kidney pie. 

The next letter was less sure—Billy began with “If you find time to read this,” and continued with phrases like “I know it’s of no importance,” and “I won’t expect you to remember, but—” and Steve groaned as it dawned on him how obvious it must have been that he wasn’t reading Billy’s replies. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling it tuft up like scrubgrass, then crossed his arms, took a deep breath, and dug further into the pile. 

Eventually he found the first missives from Hargrove House, where Sir Neil Hargrove, Billy’s father, said Billy would do whatever they asked if only they’d overlook that it was Billy, and Billy had scribbled in a postscript wondering what part of him Steve had so sadly missed. 

_All of him,_ Steve thought, crumpling the letter. _I missed all of him, though I didn’t know it, quite, yet._ He glared at the door, paced in a circle, and then dumped an armload of letters on the bed, and collected his quill, ink, and paper. He began penning replies.

When a knock came to the door hours later, he sprang to his feet, then fell into the wardrobe as the foot he’d been sitting on gave way. His yells brought Robin in, and she snickered at his uneven walk, and showed him where Billy was on a map. Her face was solemn. “He was meeting the Hagenton guard there, to help fell a chimera. It’s killed every knight that’s fought it, so now they’re sending an army. He should be helping plan.”

“He won’t stay in the tent and plan,” Steve whispered, grabbing her hands. “I need the unicorn horn, chimeras are _poisonous—”_

“Hold on there,” she said, squeezing his hands.

“And the vial of phoenix tears,” he told her. “I need to go—”

She grimaced. “I will see about the horn.” 

“He’s fighting a chimera,” Steve told her, his voice shaking. 

“I thought your fever for him had...cooled, watching you,” she said carefully, and Steve shoved away to start pulling on his underarmor. 

“It’s burning ever hotter,” he muttered. “And I hate it that I’m telling you first, I need to tell _him—”_

“Probably should,” she nodded, eyebrows raised. 

“He’s exhausted,” Steve told his trousers, “—he has doubts about whether I...even want him to return. I need to find him before he’s…” he trailed off, pulling chainmail over his head, and Robin ran to help. “Why is there a _chimera,”_ Steve asked her, when she pulled it down so he could see again. His voice had gone high and shaky, and she clapped his shoulder, smiling tightly.

“Go get horsed, and find him. I will meet you in the armory.”

“I’ll find him,” he nodded, feeling steadier. “I—I’ll tell him. I’ll make sure he—knows.”

She nodded, her eyes narrowed at his expression. “You’ll find him. I’ll bring the unicorn horn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> [Reblog this fic!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/post/632882378090659840/a-strategic-proposal-16)  
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve bargains with the patron saint of knights everywhere, St. George, that he'll tell Billy _everything_ , if only he can find him alive.

Robin did not, in fact, return with the unicorn horn. Steve looked up from trying to saddle his anxious horse—she had caught his anxiety, and kept side-stepping just as he tried to slide straps through buckles with shaking hands—and instead of the glint of armor, there stood his _queen,_ shivering in a tatty robe and knitted blanket. She held the unicorn horn over the stall door, and he grabbed it, taking a shuddering breath of relief. 

“You shouldn’t need it,” she said, reaching in to pat his horse’s nose and hold her still. “He wasn’t to engage the chimera—”

“Why would you _send_ him,” Steve hissed, yanking the cinch around his horse’s belly. “Why send him at all, if he—if he isn’t—” He took a deep breath instead of yelling at his queen, and tried to swallow down thoughts that Billy wasn’t a strategist, there was no reason to send him, unless. Steve took another deep breath, swallowing hard. “Why—why would…”

“It was an excuse!” she hissed back, flailing an arm so her blanket fell, and cursing as she gathered it back up. “It was near—” She cut off, and Steve waited.

“Near what,” he asked hoarsely, trying to remember the map Robin had shown him. “...it’s near his home,” he realized, feeling the tightness in his shoulders ease. “Is he—why not say he—”

“He is _late,”_ she said, opening the stall door. “He may have encountered the chimera unintentionally, he—he may very well be in danger. I have been trying to find out—Sir Hagen is not _responding—”_ She took a slow breath as well, rubbing the skin between her eyebrows, and he felt bouyed up to know she and Robin were helping. Steve swung up onto his horse, and she grabbed his stirrup. “Wait! Robin is assembling more knights—if he’s fighting, you’ll be little use alone—”

“She can catch up with me,” Steve said, smiling down at his queen, still regal in her favorite soft robe with the holes in the elbows. “I need to find my husband.”

He rode through the night, expecting to reach the hunting ground of the chimera just after dawn. As the sun rose in a reddish, smoky haze, it wasn’t difficult to find where the chimera had been—where the intact armor wasn’t filled with ashes alone, charred bones in melted armor lay under still-glowing craters in boulders. Steve’s eyes stung and watered from lack of sleep, the fumes, and the realization that the fallen knights were scattered, some fleeing, and armed with swords, not the spears and crossbows they’d have taken to fight a beast with fire breath. Travellers. 

He resisted the urge to yell Billy’s name, tying his horse in a copse of trees and grass near the road, and trying to keep his steel boots quiet as he walked, watching for the chimera. He found claw marks, once or twice, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of a knight skewered on the jagged stump of a burned tree, though when he ran closer, he could see the armor was too small, and the curls hanging from her crushed helmet were too gold to be Billy’s. 

Steve bent to lean his hands on his knees, breathing shakily, and stuffed his handkerchief inside his helmet to wipe his eyes.

He walked by a pile of half-eaten horses and two knights, and took another few deep breaths before he stepped in close to crouch, his sight blurring, to see whether it was the armor Billy had brought with him. Steve wondered, abruptly, rubbing his eyes, whether Billy’s armor was _good_ enough, good as the Queen’s Guard, and his lungs shuddered in his chest at the thought that Billy’s family might have pinched pennies and Steve’s husband had fought a chimera armed with some sort of—gilt tin. He leaned his face in his hands, remembering it lying around the room, and wondering why he’d never thought to take it to the castle armorer, and made sure it was the _best._ Steve groaned, trying to remember buckling it on, and whether it had felt oddly heavy or light, but all he could remember was buckling it wrong because Billy was _smiling,_ and had to be kissed.

“If he’s alive, I’ll commission a figure for your chapel,” he muttered, touching the St. George inscribed on his hilt. “I’ll have Billy model. You couldn’t ask for a better model—you—he’s beautiful, he’s strong—he’s brave, he—he’ll—just keep him alive ‘til I find him, I’ll buy candles, I’ll—” he cut off as his throat closed, and he coughed. “Protect his body from harm,” Steve whispered. “Def-defend the happiness of my home from all those who may conspire to destroy it. Give me the strength of your faith and fill me with hope and with the love of God—”

He brushed the ashes and blood away, and didn’t recognize the armor. “...amen.” His whole body trembled, a bit, with relief, and he stood slowly, letting himself mumble the prayer again and again, since St. George himself seemed to be listening. His sword started to glow. 

The road seemed as good a place to look as any, and Steve wished Robin would _hurry_ and help him search, wondering how many miles of wreckage he’d have to kick through, and how long Billy _had,_ even with the intercession of Steve’s patron saint. “I will never ask for anything again,” he whispered at the sky, as loudly as he dared. 

As he crept along the road, he heard a soft cry, and found one of the Hagenton knights, her leg charred off at the thigh. “Help is coming,” Steve told her, helping her drink a few swallows of water. She nodded, weakly punching the air, and he tied his handkerchief to the tree she huddled under, in view of the road. “Have you seen...anyone else,” he asked, swallowing, and she squinted, her eyes not quite tracking his face.

“Routed,” she rasped. “We were routed.”

“Thank you,” he told her politely, his voice thick, and she squeezed his hand, trying to sit up. 

“Some...ran,” she said, her breath rattling as she tried to focus on his face. “May-maybe they survived.”

 _Billy would not have fled, leaving the others behind to die,_ he wanted to say, but she was pressing his hands, the white of a rib sticking out of her crushed armor as she tried to touch his face, so he just nodded, helping her ease back against the tree. “Thank you,” he said again, and again, “Help is coming.” He hoped for her sake and his own that they made it in time.

He kept up a series of pleas to St. George, as well as some gentle chiding—it would be much easier, after all, for Billy to stay alive if Steve’s saint was any help at all in _finding him,_ but praying with his eyes closed didn’t give Steve the urge to walk in any particular direction, and he opened them again, rather than fail everything entirely by breaking his ankle by falling into a ditch. “Protect his body from harm,” he whispered. “Defend the happiness of my home from all who may conspire to destroy it.”

His heart thudded in his chest when he saw the curled gilt of Billy’s showy armor on a shape lying crumpled in the underbrush. “Billy,” he muttered, scrambling over the crumbling stone wall at the edge of the road, and running to his husband’s limp form. He yanked the helm up, crouching to see Billy’s wide eyes, hazy and flicking around under the pale, sweaty skin of his forehead. Steam wafted from under his armor, and out of his mouth, and Steve yanked at the wrapping on the unicorn horn, hissing, _“Billy.”_

“Harrington,” Billy whispered.

“William Hargrove,” Steve said back, wiping his eyes, as he tried to unknot the ceremonial bindings. “Thank you, St. George,” he mumbled, hoping the sincerity made up for the lack of formality. “I’ll get you those candles—”

“I’m dying,” Billy said, oddly forthright. 

“No,” Steve hissed, yanking the knots free. “No, you’re alive, I’m here to save you.”

“You can marry someone else now,” Billy laughed unsteadily, and Steve yanked at his husband’s gauntlets, trying to find somewhere he could press the horn against greyish, steaming skin. His veins were black.

“I don’t want to marry someone else,” Steve hissed, “—I want to be married to you,” he said, fighting with the buckles on Billy’s left gauntlet, and squeezing Billy’s unnaturally hot fingers around the gleaming unicorn horn. “Hold this,” he whispered, taking a shaky breath as it glowed and pulsed against Billy’s skin, and his palm turned pinkish again. “Protect him from harm,” Steve whispered again, squeezing the horn so hard against Billy’s skin that his knuckles went white.

“I’m about to turn to ash,” Billy laughed again, tears evaporating into bursts of steam as they slid from the corners of his eyes. “May I touch you?” He pushed the horn away, trying to reach for Steve’s face, and Steve scrabbled for the rolling iridescent spiral and clapped it back in Billy’s hand, sniffling, laughing and grabbing his surcoat to wipe his eyes and nose. 

“You’re touching me, you are,” Steve yelped. He held Billy’s hand around the horn, reaching his other arm around to try and unbuckle his husband’s helmet. “You won’t turn to ash,” he hissed. “I won’t let you—Billy, is the chimera dead?”

Billy’s eyes widened, and he tried to push himself up. “Wounded it,” he gasped, as Steve pushed him back down. 

“Do you know which way it went, m-my love?” Steve asked, feeling awkward, but Billy went still.

“Oh,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on Steve’s face. 

“I love you,” Steve said again, leaning close to see Billy’s expression through the slit where his helm lifted. “Where is the chimera?”

“I died,” Billy whispered, frowning. 

_“Knight of my heart,”_ Steve hissed, “You’re not dead. I followed you—where is the beast that felled you?”

“I thought there would be more pain,” Billy mumbled, “—turning to ash,” and Steve groaned, grabbing his husband’s helmet and pressing a kiss to it. 

“Shut your mouth, idiot,” he told Billy, pushing himself up to a crouch so he could still hold Billy’s hand around the horn, and watch for the chimera. “You’re alive, and I love you—of course I would love you, you—”

“I can feel your hand,” Billy mumbled some more, sounding aggrieved. 

“Yes,” Steve told him, sighing and biting back a smile, “—because I’m saving you, idiot. You can’t die, I replied to all your letters.”

“...my letters?” 

“I missed you sliding your hand around my cock all night,” Steve rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush, “—so I read all your letters.”

“Burn them,” Billy whispered. 

“They were very interesting,” Steve told him, grinning, and taking a shaky breath at the sight of the pinkish glow showing through the join at Billy’s neck. He squeezed his husband’s hand. “I brought your horse carrots. Now I know her favorite treat.”

“I hope she’s alive,” Billy sighed. “Do you think if we’re both dead, I’ll see her again?”

“You aren’t dead,” Steve growled, banging his free hand on Billy’s armor. 

“I don’t mind,” Billy said. “It’s good here.”

Steve thought, biting his lips together. “...I _don’t_ love you.”

“Ah,” Billy sighed. “And I hurt. I _am_ alive, then.”

“Ha!” Steve grinned, leaning in to try and kiss him, again, and having to kiss his helmet. “But I _do_ love you!”

Billy opened his mouth, and closed it again, looking both bewildered and annoyed. 

“I would have told you before you rode out,” Steve told him, raising the hand he was pressing the unicorn horn to and kissing it, “—but you rode out while I slept.”

“...you love your queen,” Billy mumbled.

“I love my husband more,” Steve told him, feeling a little awkward at the thought his saint was listening, but sure a saint would understand that Billy needed to hear it. He sent up a silent apology as he reached into Billy’s helmet and pressed a finger over his mouth. “I—it isn’t only—” he bit his lips, thinking, with Billy’s eyes fixed on his face. “You aren’t only my best friend, and—and the person I—I want to show things. Tell things to, talk about—I—I miss you,” he whispered, “—I miss you when you—when you’re on the other side of the room, I…” 

Steve trailed off, staring in horror at the tears trailing down Billy’s cheeks. “I love you,” he tried, and Billy made a choking noise. “I’m sorry,” Steve said, watching his husband _cry,_ and yanking at his armor to try and see whether the unicorn horn was _working,_ or whether he was talking like an idiot while his husband _died._

“Don’t stop,” Billy told him, laughing as Steve shoved his fingers in every cranny in his husband’s armor, feeling for unnatural heat. 

“Protect his body from harm,” Steve hissed around the lump in his throat, wondering whether St. George had _stopped paying attention._ “Defend the happiness of my home from those—”

“I am well,” Billy told him, grabbing both Steve’s hands away from their frantic prodding. “I am safe, I am well—”

“You are _crying—”_ Steve informed him, feeling his own eyes welling up at the thought that it hadn’t _worked,_ he’d been too late, he’d _failed._ He’d arrived just in time to tell the truth, and maybe that was all his saint could do, he realized, and he cleared his throat. “I love you,” he said hoarsely, “I—I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner, I—would have told you—”

 _“Stop,”_ Billy said, too loud, yanking at the ties on his helmet, and pulling Steve down against him in a clash of denting armor. “I am well, I am saved. Why are you here,” he whispered between kisses, and Steve tried to remember the living chimera wandering about somewhere. 

“Had to tell you I loved you,” he panted, still trying not to bawl himself. He rubbed his thumb up and down Billy’s cheek, salt-smeared from his tears, and the sweat from the heat of the chimera’s poison. It felt warm, but nothing like the heat of before, and Steve took a shuddering breath.

“An urgent missive from the queen,” Billy whispered, smiling down at where their hands were still locked around the unicorn horn. “...is...is this a national treasure?”

“Yes you are,” said Steve, hoarsely, feeling clever, and Billy started _laughing_ until he choked, then groaned as he rested his head against Steve’s chestplate. “You need to drink some water, I think,” Steve whispered into his husband’s curls, and Billy hummed, squirming closer. “You taste like you lived on nothing but whiskey for the last fortnight,” Steve coaxed, and Billy started laughing again, shaking in Steve’s arms. “Can you stand?” Steve asked, wiping his eyes and nose, and kissing his husband’s hair. _Thank you, St. George,_ he prayed silently. _Please help me get him home._

In the distance came the shriek of the beast.

They both listened, and Billy flushed, smiling down as Steve’s hand tightened on his wrist. 

Billy sighed. “It drug people away. They might…”

Steve frowned, sliding his hand up the back of Billy’s head and pulling him into another kiss. “They might be someone’s Billy Hargrove,” he said, nodding, and Billy’s eyes widened as he turned inexplicably red. Steve checked that the unicorn horn was against his husband’s skin again, worried about the heat, but Billy smacked his hands away like Steve was being _unreasonable,_ pulling him into a tight embrace. 

“...it worked,” he whispered in Steve’s ear. “I was gray as ashes, remember? I am tired, and...” he swallowed, trailing off as Steve frowned into his face.

“Keep the horn against your skin,” Steve told him, with the narrowed eyes of one expecting to be obeyed.

“I will,” Billy said, smiling. “Only because my husband is worried.”

“Of course I’m worried,” Steve hissed. “I have to get you back to our bed. I have to—I have to commission you better armor—”

“Armor,” Billy blinked. “My armor is—”

“You were _poisoned—”_

“Its breath is—”

“Maybe I can convince Her Majesty I’ll fall ill if she sends you away again,” Steve mumbled over him. “It happens in ballads, lovers pining—”

Billy started laughing again _and_ crying, and Steve grabbed his shoulders, wondering whether his actions had driven his husband _mad._ “...let us search,” Billy wheezed, wiping his eyes. “So you may carry me back to our bed.”

“Yes,” Steve nodded, ignoring Billy snickering again. _Sorry, St. George,_ he thought, _for talking about beds._ Then it occured to him that St. George might have had a Billy as well, and he just prayed, _—and thank you. Again._ As they walked, he continued to update the saint with _as we’re still looking for the chimera, we could use some more help,_ and _could you look for Billy’s horse,_ and _you probably know what we’re doing, from up there, do I need to tell you?_

“Do you believe me yet?” Steve asked, and then as Billy grinned at him and stumbled over a charred tree limb, and Steve grabbed his arm, “—not about the bed. Of course I want you in bed, anyone would want you in bed—stop laughing.” 

“This is a very strange day,” Billy told him, sighing, and leaning into his side. “I think I...will believe you, but…” he shrugged his shoulders, and Steve nodded, thinking. 

“I woke yesterday morning, and I was glad,” Steve said, clearing his throat as they walked north, following the trail of smoking, empty armor and the ever-heavier ash filling their throats and lungs. “I don’t _like_ waking up,” he continued.

“No one does,” Billy put in.

“But I did,” Steve told him. “I smiled before I opened my eyes. I thought I would roll over, and you’d be there, and when I put my arm around you, you’d lean against me, and I’d smell your hair.”

Billy burst out laughing so loudly Steve shushed him, feeling wrong-footed, and wishing he could speak properly and be clear, but Billy dropped into a crouch, hiding his face, and Steve forgot his frustration leaning over him. 

“I’m sorry I’m doing this wrong,” Steve whispered. “I thought—I thought you should...know.”

“I love you so much,” Billy whispered back. “So much, I can’t—I can’t even—I can’t—”

“You can’t...believe me?” Steve asked, crouching to try and lean to see Billy’s face. 

“I—I’ll try,” Billy said huskily, and Steve nodded, leaning to kiss his husband’s exposed ear. 

“I will keep telling you,” Steve told him, “—until you’re sick of it. I told St. George it was important you knew, and if you were alive, I’d never stop telling you—”

“You don’t even go to _church—”_ Billy sniffled, and Steve shrugged, pulling him around for a kiss. 

“I think St. George would rather I kept fighting monsters and telling you I love you,” he said, licking his lips, and Billy cried in earnest while Steve kissed him for hopefully not the last time, and busied himself putting both their helmets back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> St. George is pretty rad actually, I say as not-actually-a-Catholic, he was originally depicted as a black guy who impressed the hell out of a bunch of crusaders. The Vatican never acknowledged him, but the crusaders were so impressed they made him the patron saint of England anyway.
> 
>  **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> [Reblog this fic!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/post/632882378090659840/a-strategic-proposal-16)  
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve manage to stop kissing and flirting long enough to consider the chimera.
> 
> (Sorry, never trust me about chapter counts! This should be the last change, unless I add another big long romantic scene to the end?! That would be worth it, right?!)

They found only two other survivors, and one turned to ash, groaning, after trying to warn them about the chimera. “We know,” Steve told their empty armor, and hoped they heard. 

He renewed his thanks to St. George for keeping Billy alive just long enough, grabbing his husband and bumping their helmets together again to hear Billy mumble.  Steve stopped to g uzzle most of his waterskin, grabbing Billy’s off his belt and shoving it at him. “Drink,” he whispered, wiping his mouth with his wrist. “It will help.”

Billy nodded, raising his visor, and clumsily uncorking the waterskin with his eyes on Steve’s mouth. 

“Finish it, and I’ll give you a kiss,” Steve told him, stepping close enough for their chests to bang together, “—unless you spill.”

“Mmph!” Billy frowned at him, wide-eyed, and kept swallowing. 

“Don’t drown,” Steve whispered, leaning in to kiss along Billy’s steel-covered jaw. “Breathe.”

“So many instructions,” Billy panted, lowering the waterskin for air, then lifting it to drink again as Steve squeezed him, gritting his teeth at the noise of their armor scraping.

“...look,” Steve said, trailing off as Billy did. Steve looked him over again, thinking he might always need to see that the black veins and gray skin had faded. He took a deep breath. “Billy. Go back, set up camp,” Steve whispered, “—away from here—”

He cut off as Billy dropped the empty waterskin and kissed him, awkwardly, a press of lips while they both held their visors out of the way. “I’m not leaving you,” Billy told him, matter-of-factly. “I still have suspicions I may be dead,” he said, frowning up the hill, and Steve groaned, “—but living or dead, I’ll continue by your side.”

“You’re not dead,” Steve growled. “I wouldn’t _ kiss  _ you—”

“Ah, but you _ would,”  _ Billy told him, swaying as he smiled, and Steve caught him around the waist. “But on the other hand, you are a fine and honorable knight,” he laughed, swallowing, “—and you might also ride to—to your husband—to defend your country and your people—”

“I would,” Steve said warily, “—though I did not—I didn’t come to kill the chimera. I came to find you. I rode ahead.”

“You make it difficult to believe you’re real,” Billy told him, and Steve shrugged his shoulders, raising his eyebrows. “But I think you—” he stopped, studying Steve’s face. “—you would ride out for your husband, because despite your love for your queen, I think you would not...wish me to die?”

“Why would you _ doubt  _ that,” Steve asked, horrified, as he yanked his husband close enough to clonk their helmets together, and ran shaking fingers over the smooth metal. “I love you,” Steve told him again, finding it easier every time he said it. He wondered why it had been so difficult to say, at first. “I love you, William of Hargrove. I didn’t come for my country, or my people—”

“Why didn’t you bring anyone?” Billy asked, smiling. “It’s impossible, the captain of the palace guard riding alone. I’m dying, and you’re—”

Steve laughed shakily. “Heaven is a burnt forest full of ashes and fallen allies?”

“You appeared like a vision—”

Steve snorted.

“Like a vision to the _ dying,”  _ Billy groused, “—like the Holy Virgin riding a _ donkey through the battlefield,  _ claiming to—”

“I am the _ captain of the Queensguard,”  _ Steve told him, laughing. “I rode for _ you,”  _ he said again, grabbing his husband by the helmet and shaking him gently. “—and now—now we’ll probably both die here. But I saved you,” he smiled, stroking his thumb up Billy’s cheek, “—long enough to tell you that, at least—”

“If I die again, I will know I was _ not  _ dead,” Billy said flatly, staring into Steve’s eyes. He frowned, and swayed, and Steve sighed, steadying him. 

“Why won’t you believe me,” Steve huffed, and Billy smiled, kissing the gauntlet next to his face.

“Fool me once,” he whispered, and Steve shoved their helmets together and kissed him over and over, pushing him back with the force of his argument, while Billy began to laugh so hard their teeth banged together.

“There’s a chimera up there,” Steve said, finally, against Billy’s smiling, pinkened mouth. “We should...see to that. First.”

“We should,” Billy repeated, kissing him again. “That is...probably important.”

Steve licked into his mouth again, ignoring the metallic scraping sounds and marvelling at the warmth of him, alive and laughing. “How badly is it wounded?” he whispered, half his brain busy cataloguing his husband’s uncertain smile, and the warmth of emotion in his cheeks instead of the burning heat of poison.

“This is not my sword,” Billy whispered back, his gaze dropping to Steve’s mouth again, so Steve leaned in to press their lips together. He had to remind himself to pull away, to let Billy continue. “...I stabbed mine into it up to the hilt,” Billy said, his smile softening. “My sword fell away into ashes when I pulled it forth. Some dead knight lent me this.”

Steve considered this. “Do you suppose it was hurt?” he asked, and Billy laughed sharply, and raised his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders.

“It wasn’t a magical sword,” said Billy, eyeing the sword Steve had been knighted with. It glowed as ever, for once useful instead of requiring a blanket be thrown over it to allow them to sleep. “It also breathes fire, you can’t—”

“I hope I needn’t get so close,” Steve told him, and Billy nodded, taking a shuddery breath of relief. Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t mean to fight it alone.”

“If we near its den—”

“We won’t stray too close,” Steve said, squinting up through the smoke at the cave-pocked, rocky slope. “Anyone...I would rescue who I can,” he sighed, “—but anyone in its lair…”

Billy nodded, grimacing. “Don’t lose yourself, chasing the lost.”

Steve sighed, biting his lips, and Billy’s gauntleted fingers made a scraping metallic noise tightening against Steve’s arm. Steve sighed. “There may be more survivors—”

“We are only two men,” Billy hissed, taking hold of him with both hands. His voice had a shade of pleading in it that sent a pang through Steve’s chest. “You can’t _ fight  _ it, I lost—”

“I’ve fought more battles than you,” Steve growled back, but shook his head. “I may be able to trap it, at least until we are well gone for help.”

“Using a capture array,” Billy nodded, taking a shuddering breath. “With your guard captain’s sword, it might hold. The company that was here—they tried, but it broke through—after they tried frontal assault.” 

Steve nodded, grimacing, and wondered if it had been someone’s first, and last, command. “With the sword of the Captain of the Queensguard, and the might of Saint George, it may hold.”

They walked a short while, Steve reaching to steady his husband every few yards, when Billy asked, “...are you comparing yourself to Saint George?”

“I am _ praying for his aid,”  _ Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I asked for _ assistance—” _

“Good,” Billy told him, nodding. “You’re fair with a sword, but a saint of legend you are not—”

“May I remind you I found you _ under a bush,”  _ Steve hissed back. “Crying.”

“I mourned how lonely you would feel, without me,” Billy said, sighing, and clanking his gauntleted hands together in virtuous prayer. 

“I _ doubt  _ that—” Steve growled, but Billy banged his helmet. 

“Sssh, look!” He pointed to a dark cave in the hillside, where the smoke emerged in dark curls. 

After a climb that would have taken less than a quarter-hour on a good footpath, but took an hour up sliding shale and jagged stone in their armor, they saw piles of bones surrounding and spilling out of the mouth of the cave. Steve pushed Billy behind him, ignoring his laugh. The bones rattled and slid under their boots as they approached, and they shuffled as softly as their armor allowed.

Steve grappled with his pack for the roll of blessed implements, and began hammering the calligraphed tags around the entrance, first quietly into the earth, then fast and loud, into the stone of the cave entrance. 

“Faster,” Billy breathed, as they listened to the bones shifting within. Billy forced himself closer, wading through the waist-deep remains both human and animal to accept two tags. He stomped one into the ground, then banged at the one he was placing with a handy rock, and Steve set the last tag, and then looked over to see Billy leaning against the wall, heaving for breath. “You should...go,” Steve whispered, “—set up camp. Rest.”

“Not letting you fight...alone,” Billy mumbled back, panting, and Steve drug his legs through the mass of bones spilling out of the cave to grab Billy’s arm, and check, once again, that the horn was buckled directly against his skin under his gauntlet. The sound of feet rattling through bones lingered too long after Steve had stopped moving, and he mumbled to Saint George, hoping the saint understood that trapping the chimera was part and parcel of bringing Billy home.

“Back away,” Steve told him. “It will feel it, once I set the circle. We’ll need to run.”

“Take the horn, then,” Billy muttered, leaning heavily against him for help undoing his gauntlet. “If you must—”, and then the chimera was upon them. 

It came in a thundering, clattering avalanche of bones, wider than a draft horse and twice as long, hissing from its snake head and belching flame from its lion. The rocks and bones poured and shifted until Steve couldn’t move in the waist-high morass without losing his footing. “Give me the strength of your faith, and fill me with hope,” Steve whispered, and his sword lit up through the smoke, startling it back.

Billy hucked the rock in his hand at its face, and it flinched back at the impact with its lower jaw, and roared in fury. It swept a paw the size of a a great platter at Billy, who barely got his borrowed sword up in time, and then it _ shrieked _ as the blade slid between its furred knuckles and blood sprayed and smoked over their armor as Billy was knocked back clear onto the rocky ground beyond the scattered bones. He rolled and lay still.

Steve screamed, grabbed his own sword in both hands, and stabbed it into the chimera’s scaly side. The sword pulsed blue even as it began to melt. He shoved it in further, yelling both for his saint’s aid, and _ at  _ his saint as he thought of Billy behind him, limp as he had been earlier, under the bush at the side of the road. The creature roared and screeched from all its mouths, his armor heating as it belched fire at his back. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he swayed, lightheaded with the sudden heat, and nearly lost his grip. He heard Billy scream something, and then he was _ there,  _ stabbing the unicorn horn into the chimera’s hide where Steve’s sword had sliced it, and it shrieked and screamed again, kicking and lashing out. Steve yanked Billy back as the creature fell over its own feet, scrabbling in its own piles of stripped bones and spouting fire and ash. 

He drug his husband down and away, covering him as they huddled against a pile of bones as they were blinded by the flames and the burst of blue light, loud and bright as cannon-fire at close range.

Then it was silent.

Steve checked his husband first, squinting through the slowly-dimming blue glow. Billy was panting, clutching at Steve’s armor and reaching to touch his face, and Steve grabbed his hands. “We’re both alive,” he announced, coughing.

Billy covered Steve’s mouth, muffling his own coughing. “Sssh,” he whispered, getting to his feet, first by leaning on Steve’s shoulder, then his head. 

“It looks dead,” he whispered, and Steve clambered up too, his hands shaking as they always seemed to after the fight. “...you’ve lost your precious gift,” Billy said, and Steve grabbed at him, staring into his face, then turning him around to thump at his armor.

“Where are you hurt,” Steve gasped, his lungs and throat raw with smoke and horror. “How—what do you—”

“From your queen,” Billy laughed, and Steve blinked at him, rubbing his eyes, then at the smoking hulk of the dead chimera, his gaze following Billy’s pointed gauntlet to the smoking marks in the stone shaped like the finger-guard of his captain’s sword.

“Ah,” Steve said. “My sword?”

“Your gift from your queen,” Billy said softly, and Steve snorted, then coughed, spitting ash.

“You were as much of one,” he told Billy, who frowned. “Come, we need horns, or claws, something to convince the townsfolk they may emerge to eat.” He took a few steps towards the chimera—both wary of movement, and feeling his muscles catch and strain after the long ride to find Billy, and then the frantic few moments of the fight. He stumbled in the morass of bones, steadying himself on the chimera’s corpse, and leaned to stare into its still, gaping face.

“Perhaps she will give you another sword,” Billy offered. “For—for the anniversary of her coronation, maybe, next month.”

Steve stopped bashing at the chimera’s horn with a rock, and squinted at him. “She’d better. How will I save my husband next time?”

“I saved _ you,”  _ Billy snorted, rolling his eyes. “Your precious sword from your queen was _ melting.” _

“I used her gift to keep her gift,” Steve said, shrugging, and frowning intently down at the open eyes of the creature so Billy wouldn’t see the red in his cheeks.

“Are you—ah. She handed me over as a consolation prize,” Billy said, closing the front of his helmet again, and Steve frowned up, clutching the broken-off horn of the chimera’s goat-head.

“She...wanted me to live happily,” Steve tried, and Billy’s helmet nodded stiffly. Steve reached around to tug at the cinder-filled wound where he’d stuck his sword, and he could see the edge of the unicorn horn. “...she listened when I said I—there was someone else—”

“Did you say _ ‘Forsooth, and verily, I love another,’”  _ Billy snorted, and Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face heating further, as though the chimera was breathing on his armor again. He grabbed the end of the unicorn horn and yanked.

The unicorn horn started coming loose with a noise like someone crushing grapes for wine, and Steve wrinkled his nose, and raised his voice. “She asked people I knew. I had...I tried to be...mysterious,” Steve tried to explain, and Billy started laughing. 

“Of course you did, you didn’t want anyone,” he groaned, steadying himself against the nearest large rock. 

“She asked my friends who they remembered that it might be,” Steve kept on doggedly, fairly certain it would be worse to stop there. “She stood over me while I wrote letters.”

Billy froze. “...I wondered,” he said. “—about the letters.”

“She read them!” Steve groaned. “I—it didn’t...she stood over me, as I penned the letters, I could not...but w ithout her, you would not have come,” Steve said, falling back in a clanking mass of exhausted armor as the horn came loose. “She—” he panted, staggering to his feet, “—she _ gave me you.” _

“A gift you didn’t want,” Billy said, and Steve walked over to him, stumbling over a pile of bones, and kicking his way through. 

He grabbed Billy’s helmet. “The only gift I want,” he whispered into it, and Billy sighed, pulling away to yank at the laces. Steve scrabbled at his own helmet, but he was still fumbling with the ties as Billy pulled his own off, and laughed, stepping around Steve to help. Once they were both bareheaded, Billy lowered his gaze to the unicorn horn in Steve’s hands, but Steve tugged him close. “William of Hargrove,” he said, and frowned, as Billy winced. “Billy,” he tried again. “I came for you. I rode all night, after my queen demanded I wait for more knights. I rode for you.”

Billy shut his eyes and bit his lips together, his breathing uneven, and Steve dropped the unicorn horn next to his foot and pulled his husband close, kissing his ear. It was pink and healthy, but burning hot against his lips. Their armor clanked together as Billy leaned in, and Steve kissed his cheek, and then his lips. 

They were salty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> [Reblog this fic!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/post/632882378090659840/a-strategic-proposal-16)  
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wagon ride isn't too bumpy, and the stairs aren't too long, as long as Steve has his husband close.

When Steve and Billy made it to the road, there was an outcry of _ ‘There they are!’, ‘Is it them?’  _ and _ ‘By the Wheel!’,  _ and a thundering of shod hooves as a group of knights surrounded them.

Steve staggered to a stop, blinking in the gathering darkness.  __ Robin was there, suddenly, and she yelled at the sky before swinging off her horse to run up and bang her fist on Steve’s chestplate. 

“You didn’t wait for me!” she hissed, stepping back to survey the blackened patches up the side of his armor, the blood sprayed across it, and Billy raising his head from Steve’s shoulder. Robin rubbed the tears from her eyes without smacking herself in the face, and he envied her her leather armor, though he had to squint to see the edges of her, in flickering torchlight, in the midst of knights in steel polished like mirrors. “You could have died, you _ idiot,”  _ she whispered, and smacked the flat of her hand across his metal shoulders again. 

“It’s dead,” Steve told her, and she narrowed her eyes at Billy. 

“Is he?”

“I may be alive,” Billy groaned. “Tragically.”

“You _ are alive,”  _ Steve hissed at him. “And you’re going to keep on being so—”

“You’re so demanding,” Billy sighed, and Robin smacked his armor too.

“The Captain of the Queensguard fled in the night,” Robin informed Billy. “He robbed the queen of a national treasure and left her in the stables to round up a rescue _ for your rescuer.” _

Billy started snickering, and staggered, dropping the helmet under his arm. 

Robin scooped it off the ground. “She was in her _ robe and slippers,”  _ she huffed, and Billy laughed harder, while Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, then glared.

“You were supposed to be attending to that,” he informed Robin, and she rolled her eyes. 

“You may thank her when we return,” she told him, “—for packing the food we’re about to feed you.”

“Not sure I can eat if I’m dead,” Billy said.

Steve growled deep in his throat, and shook him until his armor rattled, and Billy laughed until he had to fall to one knee. 

“I am delighted you survived,” Robin said dryly, “—particularly after I found Her Majesty stumbling around the barn, because your passage had caused the wind to blow out her lamp. I feared you intended to challenge a chimera to single combat to rescue your…” she trailed off, watching Billy cackle, and Steve try to haul him back to his feet. “...your fair maiden love.”

“Oh _ no,”  _ Steve whispered, remembering that his _ queen  _ had said something as he left, and might have tried to stop him. He imagined knocking her flying, and stopped yanking on his husband to cover his face. “...did I kick Her Majesty in the face?” he asked, full of dread, and Robin’s grin sparkled at him.

“I will leave some surprises to await you at the castle,” she said, and Steve groaned, imagining the queen of seven kingdoms with a black eye or broken nose because he’d ridden off with such urgency he’d forgotten _ water  _ until two hours later, when he passed a stream.

“She will never let me forget,” he said numbly, and Robin’s grin widened. Steve suspected again she was some fae thing, befriending humans for her own amusement. 

“Did you kick the queen in the face?” Billy asked, panting and smiling up, and Steve crouched next to him. 

“It was only my hurry to find you,” he said. “And if I did—” Steve took a shaky breath, remembering Billy’s limp form on the ground, “—she will recover, and so will you, because I was just in time.”

Billy ducked his head, smiling, and Robin groaned into her hands. 

“I will be sure to inform Her Majesty you consider a blow to her face no great loss,” she said.

“We’ve both done worse, sparring,” Steve told her, half listening, half watching Billy’s soft grin. He was kissing it before he even realized he’d leaned in, and Billy slumped against him in another scrape to their armor, sighing contentedly. Steve closed his eyes, ready to sleep in a pile of steel and husband.

“We brought a wagon,” Robin told them, and grabbed Billy’s other arm to haul him along. Steve staggered to his feet again, and another knight slid an arm around him—Steve was too bleary to recognize her armor. Once she tipped him onto the floor of the wagon, Steve surrendered the blood-sticky horns. 

“One’s a chimera,” Steve explained, pointing at the curled brown one he’d broken off the dragon head, his tongue thick with exhaustion in his mouth. “One’s unicorn.”

“Obviously,” she nodded, raising her eyebrows, and he rubbed his face.

“It’s the...the long shiny one,” he mumbled, 

“I will be sure to note that down,” Robin said gravely, patting his boot. Steve’s eyes started to close again.

“How were you so fast?” Billy asked, suddenly, tugging at the buckles on Steve’s breastplate.

“...training?” Steve mumbled, frowning blearily at him. “Training at swords?”

“No—” Billy frowned down at him, then out the back of the wagon. “No, I mean—”

“Saint George,” Steve sighed in relief as Billy lifted more armor away. “Guided my hand—”

“No,” Billy said, yanking at Steve’s gauntlet. “How did you arrive a full day ahead of them, if—”

Steve squinted at the stars. “...maybe they slept. I just changed horses.”

“You rode through the night.” Billy’s fingers dug into Steve’s skin for a long moment, and then he let go, his laugh wavering. “...yet you’re _ certain  _ I’m alive,” he asked again, but his voice said he was teasing, and Steve groaned, and rolled to thunk his head against Billy’s armored thigh. He was so exhausted it was good as a pillow. He woke, briefly, as the wagon began to move, to feel Billy’s fingers stroking through his hair.

It wasn’t particularly restful sleep, half in armor, jostling over rocks and pits in the road, and Steve was thrilled to stumble out to laughter and hands yanking at his plate and mail, until he and Billy were shoved, armor-less, towards the winding, narrow back stairs through the watchtower to the keep, and their rooms. Billy kept leaning out windows, panting, and Steve pressed up next to him, feeling his husband solid, warm, and sweaty against him.

“We reek,” he whispered, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“I think we can be forgiven,” he whispered back, and Steve kissed him, relearning every sharp edge of his teeth, and the stubbly bunch of Billy’s cheeks as he smiled. 

“I could have missed you,” Steve whispered, his breath catching. “If I hadn’t kicked my queen in the face, I might have been too late. Found—found only your armor—” he stopped because he couldn’t breathe, grabbing his husband in an embrace so tight he nearly tipped them back down the stairs. “You nearly died, you—”

“...how fortunate you kicked your queen in the face,” Billy whispered, shaking with laughter, but his face against Steve’s was wet and sticky with tears. “A true hero,” he whispered.

“...I think a true hero would have done better,” Steve sighed, but it was hard to think about the fallen, when his husband slumped tiredly in his arms. “Rescued more than his own husband. Kept searching—”

“You did,” Billy pointed out, rolling his shoulders, taking a deep breath, and taking a few more steps up the stairs.

“I didn’t,” Steve said, following him. He shook his head, and kissed their intertwined fingers. “I stopped looking, in case you—if it—it didn’t—in case I—lost you. I stopped to hold your hand.” his breath hitched again. “And I don’t—I don’t regret it,” he forced through his tight throat, and Billy yanked him into another kiss, their teeth smacking together and bruising Steve’s lip. Billy jerked back, hands up, but Steve stumbled after him to push him against the wall and lean in more slowly, letting his eyes fall closed to feel Billy’s breath against his mouth. “You’re alive,” he whispered, feeling Billy’s breath hitch. His lips were chilly, from the air in the windy stairwell. “You’re alive, you aren’t—you aren’t ashes, or bones and char, you’re alive—”

Billy hummed deep in his throat, sliding his hand up to muffle Steve’s words against his mouth. He turned his head, his lips parting, and they nearly fell down the stairs again before he yanked them the other way, laughing. “If this were heaven,” he mumbled, “—I would likely be able to kiss my husband without falling down the stairs.”

“Right,” Steve nodded, opening his mouth to wonder whether they _ could,  _ in that case, fall down the stairs, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt. He shut it again, afraid Billy would test the theory. 

The stairs stretched up before them, all different heights to trip up attacking troops, and they subsided into silence as they climbed, panting. Steve nearly fell again, and Billy leaned against the wall to catch his breath, but Steve yanked his hand, pulling him around the turn in the stairs and through the door to the hall, where the glazed windows were beaded with moisture from warmth. 

On the carpet, Billy stumbled and fell to one knee. Steve staggered himself, stopping midstride, and waved to the guard at the nearest door, who laughed, shaking her head. She shoved her shoulder under Billy’s, hoisting him up, and Steve took his other side, despite her doubtfully raised eyebrows.

“Are you sure you’re helping, sir?” she asked, and he snorted. 

“I can walk.”

“Can you?” she grumbled, as Billy glowered blearily at the floor, taking clumsy steps and overadjusting without the additional weight of their armor. He nearly pulled their Good Samaritan over onto Steve, growled, and shoved away as soon as he could grab for the door to their rooms. 

“Thank you,” Steve told her, earnestly, and she shook her head, trotting back to her post. Steve leaned into their room to see Billy sitting on the floor. He looked away as Steve approached, and Steve stopped. “...Billy.” _ What ails you,  _ he wanted to ask, _ besides the chimera’s poison, and—everything else.  _

After a long pause, Billy frowned over, and blinked slowly. “I came back,” he mumbled. “You _ brought  _ me back.”

“...yes,” Steve said, uncertain. “Billy. If I put you in a bath...will you drown?”

“...do you want me to?” Billy laughed, and Steve sighed, and walked over to grab his husband’s face. 

“As the captain of the Queensguard,” he said, rubbing his thumbs over Billy’s two days of beard, “—and your commanding officer, I forbid you from drowning.”

“Mutiny,” Billy whispered, smiling. “Mutiny on the high seas of the bathtub.”

“Would you like me to wash you,” Steve asked, feeling his husband shake with exhaustion, and leaning in to kiss his ashy, salty face, and press their foreheads together.

“Always,” Billy whispered back, licking his lips, and Steve laughed, half-carrying Billy to the washroom, where Billy tried to angle himself to fall in the bath with his woolens still on, and Steve nearly fell with him before yanking him back. 

“Are you trying to drown us both, _ now?”  _ Steve asked, half laughing, as he tried to unlace his breeches. “After we fought the chimera, and lived?”

“Killed the chimera, died of the stench,” Billy mumbled, tugging at his shirt. They sat leaning against the side of the bath, pulling at their clothes with weak fingers, until Billy laid back on the floor. “...let me sleep here,” he whispered, as Steve forwent the ties, and began trying to pull his shirt off over his head, where it stuck. 

“Help,” he called through the cloth, and he heard Billy laughing at him. “My own husband, my love, please save me,” Steve begged, and Billy laughed _ harder,  _ cackling as Steve tried to wriggle free, scooting across the floor and banging his head against something in his struggle.

“Bested by one last wily opponent,” Billy gasped, “—his shirt. I give you...the queen’s champion!”

“Help, you bastard,” Steve growled, laughing and squirming, and heard Billy crawl across the floor. Steve squeaked as Billy’s hand, cold in the steam of the room, smoothed up his stomach. 

“Oh no,” Billy whispered, leaning so Steve could feel his warm breath through the cloth by his ear and upper arm. “...are you...helpless?”

“It’s caught on my head!” Steve squirmed, laughing, and then yelped as Billy started unlacing his breeches. “My _ head—”  _ he told Billy, again, as Billy’s cool fingers bared the rest of Steve’s body to the air, sliding his legs free, and leaving only Steve’s arms, shoulders, and head wrapped in sturdy linen and wool. 

Billy _ licked  _ him, swiping his tongue across Steve’s lower belly as Steve kicked the air, swearing gibberish with his mouth full of shirt. 

“Help!” Steve cried, louder, and Billy started laughing again.

“My husband is having his way with me!” he said, in an insultingly high-pitched imitation, kissing Steve’s thigh. 

Steve writhed under him, nearly too tired for his prick to react...but not quite. “Hello,” Billy breathed, and Steve laughed.

“He is not having his way with me _ fast enough,”  _ Steve groaned, his legs shaking with exhaustion as he tried to scoot himself closer, and Billy snickered, kissing up his thigh and _ just past  _ the area Steve felt most _ urgent  _ about to rest his bristly face against Steve’s stomach with a tired sigh. 

Steve wriggled, growling, then paused to try and clear his mouth of cloth. “...and now you’re _ stopping?” _

“I’m tired of chasing you,” Billy said softly, “—but I don’t want you to...be unable to leave.”

“I’m not!” Steve yelped. “I could rip the shirt! I want to be here—Billy—” 

Billy ran his knuckles up Steve’s side, and Steve could feel him huff a silent laugh. 

“If you’re too tired, I’ll wash you,” Steve said, finally, blowing the cloth away from his face, and drawing another breath of his own stale sweat. “But I would lie here all day in this _ rank undershirt  _ to—to let you sleep there.”

Billy squirmed, and then Steve felt his husband’s arms sliding around him. “...we could sleep in bed,” Billy muttered, but Steve was finally _ lying down,  _ and his toes weren’t freezing off, and his husband was half on top of him, and half asleep. 

“Mmn,” he mumbled back, his eyes drifting shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> [Reblog this fic!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/post/632882378090659840/a-strategic-proposal-16)  
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After fighting the monster, travelling, and falling asleep on the bathroom floor, Steve wakes up first, and starts to process how lucky he is.
> 
> The end of this is done! Sorry for the false hope before, I need to finish stories before promising updates! XD

Steve woke shivering, the toastiness of the enchanted tile under his back and his husband’s gentle breaths across his stomach unable to offset the chill of the air. 

He sighed, squirming in the still-tangled shirt’s knotted ties, then caught them, finally, in his teeth, and managed to squirm enough to rip at them until he could squeeze his head out. The shirt was so snug the ties made a dull noise over his nose, catching under his nostrils and on his ears, and he rubbed them, sighing, his hands still caught in the inside-out cuffs. He flapped weakly in annoyance, naked with most of his shirt caught around his wrists and hands like he'd been tied up by ineffective but fashionable bandits.  


Billy snored softly, squirming closer, and Steve froze, smiling down. The window was dark, and he squinted at it, wondering whether they’d slept an hour, or three, or the entire night and through the next day.

Steve yanked the ties around his wrists with his teeth, and forced his hand through and out. The skin of his hand turned white, then red, and he sighed at the insurmountable cliffside of the tub and laid back against the tile, patting his hand down to stroke the nape of his husband’s neck. 

The rectangular white stones that made up the arches of the ceiling were plain, but pretty, he thought, staring up at them as he ran his thumb over the bumps of Billy’s spine, and Billy’s cheek warmed his hip.

It seemed ludicrous to be sprawled on the floor next to the bathtub with Billy’s arm over his legs, when that morning he’d been running to each crumpled pile of ashes and steel, praying aloud it wouldn’t bear the insignia of Hargrove House, with tears streaking his face. 

His muscles tugged and stretched reluctantly as he sat up, yanking at the remaining cuff to turn it and bite at the ties, pulling them untied with his teeth rather than stop combing his fingers through Billy’s hair. His shoulder ached, and he rolled it, wincing as he bent to kiss his husband’s temple, and thumb across the salt on his husband’s cheeks from sweating in the poisonous fever.

A loud _ thunk  _ from the outer rooms made Steve jump, and he turned, squinting in the faint light of the enchanted heat circle, his besleeved wrist hanging from his mouth by linen ties, as his squire’s head appeared leaning around the edge of the doorway. 

“Oh, hullo,” he said, and Steve blinked at him.

“...Dustin,” he muttered, rubbing his face. "Help. Mmf. I can't get out of my shirt."  


“They might be dead!” his squire yelled over his shoulder, and Steve spat his sleeve out as he heard a yelp and scrabbling sound from the next room, and Billy’s squire Max ran in, skidding to a stop just inside the door. She surveyed them, and punched Dustin in the shoulder, growling. 

“What do you mean they might be _ dead,”  _ she hissed. 

“Oh, they’re about to be,” Dustin told her, shrugging and massaging his shoulder. “The Captain of the Queensguard ran off—without his knights—without his squire—to wave his sword at a _ sword melting monster—” _

“It was a magic sword!” Steve hissed, covering Billy’s ear. “Ssshhh!”

“Oh yeah? What happened to your magic sword, Captain?” Dustin asked, waving his arms as he walked to the tub, and dipped a cloth in it. 

“...it melted,” Steve admitted, sighing, and feeling Billy huff a laugh against his belly. 

“And _ where  _ were your knights, while your sword was _ dripping away like a candle—”  _ Dustin asked, tossing the wet washcloth at Steve so it thudded solidly against his chest, and nearly fell on Billy before he grabbed for it. “Where was your _ squire,  _ oh Captain, my captain? You can't even take your _shirt_ off without me. _”_

Steve bit his lips together, wiping the washcloth over Billy’s cheek, and Max stalked over to glare down at her brother. “I had to find my husband,” Steve said, and Billy’s fingers twitched against his thigh. 

“You brought him back,” Max said, and Steve nodded. 

“I was just in time,” he said, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. “If—if I’d have waited, he’d have died.”

“We could have waited with you,” Max said, turning on her heel to grab drying cloths. “For news. We could have been ready to ride—”

Steve raised his eyebrows, scrubbing Billy’s cheek where he was trying not to smile. “You ran off...and I wouldn’t bring _ squires  _ to fight a _ chimera—” _

“This is why you fail,” Dustin yelled, stomping away. “I’ll bet you didn’t know they _melted swords!_ You know who _ did  _ know that?! _ Your squire.” _

“Robin came with a dozen knights,” Steve told Max, grimacing. “—I rode ahead, but—”

“Stop pretending to be asleep,” Max hissed, throwing the pile of cloth at Billy, and he started laughing, curling around Steve’s legs. “Your horse lived,” she told him, and he brightened.

“Excellent beast,” he said, nodding, and taking a slow breath of relief as she matter-of-factly checked him over for wounds. Steve wondered whether Billy would be willing to trade squires.  


She crouched next to Billy, her fists clenched. “Did it—how—how did it—how did it...with, uh...” she mumbled, uncharacteristically, and Steve remembered the close proximity of Hargrove House to the road the chimera had hunted. 

“We slew it,” Steve told her, “—though it took the lives of...many knights. And travellers. It was in a cave in the mountain—”

_ “I  _ slew it,” Billy said. “With the unicorn horn.”

“I called upon the power of Saint George,” Steve argued, laughing. “The sword’s enchantment—”

“Melted!” Dustin interjected, and Steve narrowed his eyes at his own squire, feeling backstabbed.

“—it—it did not simply—” he sputtered. “It joined with the saint’s holy light—”

“—the unicorn horn did not melt,” Billy told their squires, who both looked to Steve with expressions as though they believed _ Billy _ , and his mouth fell open in betrayal. “I saved your captain,” Billy _ singsonged,  _ and Steve smacked him with the wet cloth. “Perhaps I deserve a promotion—” Billy laughed, spluttering.

“Yes, yes, he did everything himself, I might as well not have been there,” Steve huffed, and Billy pulled him close, laughing and pressing stubbly kisses to his neck. Max groaned, covering her eyes.

“I will always be there to save you, my captain,” Billy breathed, and Steve snorted, squirming around to kiss his mouth. 

“Yes,” Steve agreed, grappling his husband close, so they clumsily fell against each other, all elbows. “Please don’t...don’t try to fight alone. Stay with me.”

“And bring your _ squire,”  _ Dustin harrumphed.

“Yes,” Max put in. “Yes, why—how did—”

Billy glanced up at Steve, and grimaced, then back to Max. 

“I survived.” 

“I _ see  _ that,” she hissed. “But— _ Billy—” _ She took a deep breath, pressing her fingers to her temples, dropping her voice to a whisper and glancing furtively between Steve and Dustin. “What happened with—”

“Max,” Billy grunted, pushing himself upright. “...all is well.”

“And filthy, and naked,” Dustin pointed out, and Steve glanced between Billy and Max, and sighed.

He grabbed the wet cloth Dustin had thrown into his chest, and began to scrub his own face and neck, wondering what he was missing. 

Billy pushed himself to his feet, staggered—Max and Dustin both reached for his arm—and then steadied himself, walked over, and knelt to splash his head, shoulders, and arms in the tub.

“...do you want food,” Max asked hoarsely, and Billy laughed, wiping his face to grin at her. 

“Traitor food,” Dustin huffed. “For _ traitors,”  _ and Steve threw the now-sweaty cloth at him, ignoring his yell. 

“Celebration food,” Steve said. “I could eat a whole brace of…” he trailed off, then grinned, crawling over to splash himself beside his husband. “I have an idea. We can—” he cut off, pushing his sopping hair out of his face as it dripped in his mouth. “Eugh. Please, yes, food, leave us food.”

Both squires’ noses wrinkled, and Steve’s smile widened as he wondered whether they imagined him eating chicken drumsticks off of his husband’s chest. 

“I killed the chimera,” Billy whispered. “Your sword melted.” 

Steve scooped water with both hands and sent a huge splash into his husband’s face.

“...yeah,” Max nodded, dragging Dustin away. 

Once the children had fled, Steve leaned to kiss his husband’s face, squeezing him around the shoulders. “Remember the brandy,” he whispered, and Billy frowned, shaking his head. “The brandy for celebrations,” Steve mumbled against his husband’s warm, wet skin. “From our wedding.” 

Billy flinched, and Steve kissed his ear, and his jaw, and his dripping curls. 

“Ssh,” Steve whispered. “Ssh, no, it’s for celebrating, right?”

“...for our _ wedding,”  _ Billy laughed a little roughly, and Steve wrapped both arms around him, and a leg, crouched together on the floor. 

“I was wrong,” Steve whispered. “I was wrong to lie, I was wrong to—to not love you. At first sight.” He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I should have prayed to Saint Valentine…”

Billy laughed, slumping against him. “Probably. Or told the truth, and sent me home—”

“No,” Steve shook his head. “No, no, you’d have left before—I wouldn’t have—” he took a shaky breath, burying his face in Billy’s curls, and ignoring that they were itchy, and still streaming water. “Billy, you—you lived less than two miles south of where—” he took a shaky breath around the rocks in his throat, weighing his chest down. “If you still lived there, I—I wouldn’t have known to bring you the unicorn horn. You would have—” 

“I’d be ashes?” Billy laughed, and Steve wrapped his other leg around his husband as well, and began to shake with tears. 

“Thank you for—for refusing to—refuse me,” Steve told him, fervently, biting back a strange gulping noise, and burying his face in his husband’s neck.

“...Captain Harrington,” Billy breathed, his voice unsteady. “It’s beginning to sound as though you mean that.”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to control his tears as he realized he was naked, his arms and legs bent around his husband like Tom Thumb had been captured by an amorous Frog Prince. He started laughing shakily. “Let me make up for wrongdoings with brandy,” he pleaded, kissing every part of Billy that he could reach. “Celebrate properly, this time.”

Billy nodded, smiling a soft, small smile different from his bared-teeth grin. Steve grabbed the cloth again, and dipped it in the tub, drawing it around Billy’s shivering knees and across his shoulders, until the edge of the cloth brushed against Billy’s side, and he yelped, scrambling away as he tried to muffle his laughter. 

“Let me wash you,” Steve raised his eyebrows, waving the cloth, and Billy scuttled further away, like a crab. He was laughing helplessly, hugging himself, with narrowed eyes.

“Tickle me, you mean,” he tried to growl, endlessly smiling. 

“I would never,” Steve whispered, creeping towards him, and Billy yelped, stumbling to his feet and running out to the bedroom. Steve leaned out of the doorway to see him crawl under the comforter, and tossed the wet cloth back in the bath. He stooped to pick up the drying cloths, his muscles burning and twinging as they stretched. “Fee fi fo fum!” Steve called. “I smell the blood of a Hargrovian!” 

Billy threw the coverlet back from his face, laughing. “Oh no,” he called back, wide-eyed. “Are you going to eat me? Please have mercy, my capt—mmmf,” he snickered against Steve’s mouth, squirming like a cat as Steve wiped the water droplets from his neck and chest, and down his arms and belly. 

“Come celebrate,” Steve whispered. “You _ lived,  _ and I’m married to—” he pressed Billy further into the pillows with another kiss, “—the one I love most in the world—”

“How fortunate for you,” Billy mumbled, his smile small and soft.

“And he’s alive,” Steve whispered, letting his forehead fall gently against Billy’s, and closing his eyes. 

“We killed a murderous beast,” Billy offered. “—before it killed again.”

“I wonder if it had been injured,” Steve said, shivering, and rolling off to find his woolens. “To attack travellers on the road. It knew knights would come. Why lair so near the road? There were plenty of caves—”

Billy took a shaky breath as he sat up, his fists white-knuckled in the blankets, and Steve trotted over to stir up the fire. “...I...I must tell—”

“Put a warm cloak on,” Steve advised. “And we’ll pretend they are fine blankets as we sneak through the halls.”

Billy watched him for a long moment before sliding out of bed to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
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	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to show Billy how grateful he is they both survived.

Steven Harrington and William of Hargrove, knights of the realm, tiptoed through the halls, their bare feet warmed by thick rugs. Steve nodded as each guard saluted, tugging Billy along by the hand as he laughed harder every time a guard’s eyes assessed Steve’s woolen undergarments, and then dropped to his bony white feet, and their brows furrowed.

“Sssh,” Steve whispered, as the halls widened, and the ceilings heightened. He stumbled tiredly, but set his jaw with determination.

“Where are we going?” Billy asked, still smiling, and wiping his eyes.

“To celebrate,” Steve whispered back, rubbing his eyes, and half-wishing he was asleep in bed—but Billy kept glancing down at their joined hands, and squeezing Steve’s with a little laugh, and Steve’s determination to treat him _properly_ firmed. 

The doorway he’d been seeking was up one of the long, curving staircases at the end of the Great Hall, a massive pair of oaken doors with gilt reliefs of the royal crest—the queen mounted on a unicorn rampant—and enormous, always-lit torches.

The guards saluted, a quick bang of their fists over their hearts, and then surveyed Steve, frowning.

“What are we _doing,”_ Billy hissed. 

“Celebrating,” Steve said. “Let us in.”

“...of course, Captain,” said the one on the left, and they opened both doors. 

“We would never question your orders, Captain,” said the one on the right, staring straight ahead.

“We would never stop you from barging in on the queen at three o’clock in the morning,” said the one on the left, and Steve narrowed his eyes at her. His _beloved husband_ was _laughing_ at him.

“We are sure you have good reason, Captain,” said the one on the right.

“We’re sure Her Majesty simply forgot to inform us you were expected,” said the left one, and Steve glared at her, then the other one. 

“Do you hear anything?” he asked Billy, dragging him inside as the doors closed behind them. “I nearly think I heard voices.”

Steve squinted into the dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace, wincing as Billy’s nails dug into his arm. 

“Is this the _queen’s bedroom,”_ Billy asked, barely a whisper.

“No,” Steve told him, patting along the wall for the cupboard he sought. “Just an...antechamber...ah!” He felt around several bottles, then sat back, discouraged, to yawn hugely. “...I don’t know which one it is.”

“God’s _precious heart,”_ Billy muttered, and then light flared next to Steve’s face, making him jump. Billy held out a candle. “...if we’re going to _rob_ the place, let’s at least do it _quickly.”_

The bottle of brandy, half-empty and sealed with the Queen’s own seal—gleamed from the lowest shelf, and Steve grabbed it, and two cups.

“...cups,” Billy whispered, his eyes widening in horror. “We are in the _queen’s—_ we should _go—”_

“I’m tired,” Steve huffed, meandering across the room to drop in front of the massive fireplace, and stare into the banked embers. He patted the rug next to him, and poured the brandy into both cups—and finally, Billy padded over and sank next to him, eyeing the room nervously. 

Steve eyed the brandy, swirling it in the warmth in front of the fire, and sighed, feeling like an idiot. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We should go back and sleep. I—it was—”

“...it’s very fine brandy,” Billy offered. 

“Is it?” Steve asked softly, taking a sip. It _was_ good, like sweet heat in his mouth. “Oh,” he said. “It is.”

“...why are we here?” Billy whispered, his smile lit up warm in the light of the fire. 

Steve leaned over and kissed him, and Billy scooted closer, leaning against his side. “I thought…” he sighed, leaning his face in his hands. “I want to start over. I want to do _better.”_

“You do well enough,” Billy told him, sipping at his cup, and smiling.

“I told Saint George I’d commission a marble statue of him for his chapel,” Steve confessed, “—with you as the model.”

Billy choked on his brandy, coughing.

“It needn’t be naked,” Steve whispered urgently. “I did say it would be naked, but. Perhaps the saint doesn’t _wish_ to be seen naked?”

The brandy nearly spilled as Billy coughed harder, hitting himself in the chest. “Why,” he gasped. “Why—why would you—”

“I was speaking...aimlessly,” Steve sighed, finishing his brandy, and pouring more. “I don’t even remember all of what I promised—”

“The Captain of the Queensguard, forgetting promises?” Billy asked, smiling over, and wiping his eyes.

“I offered anything that came to mind,” Steve laughed, squeezing the cup until the edges dug into his hands. “In hopes I would find you. I expected only your...ashes,” he whispered, his vision blurring as Billy pulled him close, kissing his hair. “Anything I could think a saint might want.”

“I believe usually people offer their own deeds,” Billy whispered, smiling, and kissing his cheek. “Beasts slain. Battles won in the name of Saint George.”

“All I could think of was you,” Steve sighed, and then wheezed as Billy’s arm tightened. 

Billy buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, shaking, and Steve felt a burst of fondness before realizing his husband was _laughing._

“Heartless,” he whispered, kissing Billy’s curls. 

“I am grateful you didn’t offer all of me,” Billy hissed, filling his cup of brandy. “Return to human sacrifice.”

“I would never offer a human being,” Steve huffed. “What use does a dead saint have for the most beautiful…” He trailed off, clearing his throat, and Billy elbowed him. 

“Do _not_ stop there,” Billy hissed.

Steve snorted. “Most faithful and loyal of knights,” he whispered back, squeezing Billy’s shoulders. “Brave, and clever, but not too wise.”

“...particularly that last,” Billy sighed, watching his brandy swirl in the cup.

“In choice of lovers,” Steve whispered, and Billy bit his lips together. “...you chose better for me than I did for myself,” Steve told him, and Billy took a deep, shaky breath. 

“I love you,” Billy hissed, and Steve laughed, nodding, and squirming closer, suppressing another yawn. 

“It’s returned twice fold,” Steve whispered, and Billy’s fingers tightened painfully on his shoulder. 

“No, I—I need to—tell you.” Billy took a long breath, then buried his face in Steve’s neck. “I—I came to—to—I _was sent.”_

“Sent?” Steve repeated, questioning muzzily in the back of his head whether alcohol had been a good idea. “What do you—sent by whom?”

“When my father received your proposal,” Billy whispered against the side of Steve’s head, “—he was pleased for a—a different reason—than I. He asked that I...send him word of the happenings here, that I—” he cut off with a strange noise in the back of his throat, and Steve sat his cup aside, listening. “He had...treasonous designs...on your queen.”

Steve waited, listening, wishing he’d drunk less, and slept more. He opened his mouth, saw his husband flinch, and closed it again, leaning to kiss Billy’s curls instead. “Tell me,” he whispered.

“He sent me to _spy,”_ said Billy, his gaze steady on the flames. “He plotted against your beloved queen, he—he planned to lead the chimera into a _city—”_

“Good god,” Steve breathed, imagining it. Billy flinched, closing his eyes. 

Steve pulled Billy into his arms, whispering ‘thank you’s into his hair. Billy froze against him, and Steve pulled away, rewriting the past months in his head as Billy made a soft noise deep in his throat, tugging at Steve’s sleeve. “...wait,” Steve said, running his thumb over Billy’s clenched fist. “Wait. Is—is that why you—you came here—”

“I needed _help,”_ Billy hissed back, yanking Steve closer by the sleeve. “I thought you’d _listen,_ I thought you loved me—”

“You never told me,” Steve whispered. “Why…” he started, narrowing his eyes at them, as Billy smiled tightly and looked away. “Is that why you came? Is that why you...married me,” he asked. His stomach felt as though he was falling from a great height, and he winced, remembering Billy’s face when Steve told him to refuse the marriage. 

“You _sent an offer of marriage,”_ Billy growled back, shoving Steve’s shoulder. “Yes! I knew his plans, I needed a reason to _see_ you, to tell you—he read every letter—I waited for—for your _invitation,_ for a _date—_ but then my father ordered me to—” He stopped, swallowing.

“You were stubborn with me, to save Her Majesty,” Steve mumbled through his fingers, thinking. There was a soft, light feeling in him at the thought of Billy uprooting his life to save his queen and country, but also a weight in his throat at the idea the wedding had been fake for _both_ of them, just when he’d started to believe it was entirely real. 

“For _you,”_ Billy said. 

“What,” Steve grated out.

“I betrayed my father, I—I fought the chimera, for _you,”_ Billy said hoarsely. “I couldn’t let him...trap you, let the chimera kill you—” 

“To save the queen,” Steve nodded, and Billy laughed, his voice unsteady. 

“To save _your_ queen,” he said. “She is...the kingdom, but she is—more.” His voice cracked. “To you.”

Steve thought about Her Majesty—her quick thinking when attacked, and the memory of his knee-weakening admiration for her after she leveled the crossbow, struck her target, and reloaded, calm in the face of oncoming death. His sympathetic pain for her, when she agreed to marry a woman she only knew by letter.

How much Billy knew of him, he realized, gleaned from his letters. “She’s more than my queen,” he agreed, “—but you are...more than...that. Still.”

“I win second place at the tournament,” Billy laughed, and Steve narrowed his eyes. “I miss your heart, and take a small purse of gold to pay my expenses—”

“No,” Steve hissed. “First place, in the tournament of—of my—affections.” He ignored Billy’s snort, and pressed on. “The favor is yours. My hand and my heart, rightfully won.”

“...for saving your queen?” Billy asked, watching Steve’s hand, and Steve grabbed both of his, running his thumb over his husband’s wedding ring. 

“I did not think about my queen when I rode for you,” Steve whispered, cocking his head to try and catch Billy’s eye. “I wasn’t thinking of the chimera’s path, or its cave of bones, except to try and keep you from them.”

“My father lured it from the wilds,” Billy murmured, watching Steve’s thumbs stroke across his knuckles. “Killed its young—”

 _“You_ are not your _father,”_ Steve reminded him, and Billy made a noise in his throat like he’d been punched. “You are not him,” Steve whispered, lifting Billy’s hands to his mouth to press kisses across his husband’s knuckles, and Billy yanked his hands closer, leaning in open-mouthed for firm, brandy-flavored kisses. Steve started to talk, panting for breath, but Billy laughed and crawled closer, sliding his arms around Steve’s neck, and Steve tipped back onto the rug with a _huff_ of breath as Billy settled on his chest.   
  


“Good evening.” The sleepy voice of their queen wafted from less than a foot behind Steve’s ear, and his whole body jerked, slopping the brandy in his face. Billy started snickering, wide-eyed, and Her Majesty sighed. “...don’t _waste_ it.”

“I apologize for both of us,” Billy whispered, glancing guiltily behind her. “I hope we did not wake the Royal Consort?”

“You did,” said the queen, dropping to sit next to them, and gathering her robe around her. “I have been banished from the bedroom until the noise has stopped.” 

“Oh no,” Steve mumbled, through his hands.

His queen grabbed the poker, and prodded the fire. “Your husband came to us the _first day,”_ she said. “—with letters, and maps. He asked for protection.”

“Why did you keep it secret?” Steve asked, sitting his cup aside, and Billy swallowed hard, smiling at his hands. 

“You barely tolerated me, I couldn’t—” he wheezed as Steve strong-armed his husband into his lap. Billy laughed, leaning into him, and submitted to being wrapped entirely in Steve’s arms and legs. 

“I told him you would forgive him,” said Steve’s queen, tossing another log into the fire, and scooting closer in an undignified squat. 

“By the time I thought you would forgive me for my father,” Billy said, his voice rumbling where he was pressed to Steve’s chest, “—I had been lying for months.” 

“Is the noise over?” Nancy asked, her eyebrows raised, and Steve nodded, squeezing his husband tighter until he made a squeaking noise deep in his throat. She rose, stopped, looked them over, and smiled, shaking her head. 

Steve watched her go, opening his mouth to ask Billy how long she’d known that their entire courtship had been a lie, then sighed, and shut his mouth again.

“What ails you,” Billy mumbled.

“You’re more important—” Steve told him, but Billy cut him off. 

“More important than what,” he asked warily, tensing in Steve’s arms, and Steve sighed. 

“Are we done celebrating?” he asked, squinting at his cup in the warm glow from the fire. Billy shrugged his shoulders, and Steve nodded, clambering to his feet, swaying with brandy and exhaustion, and holding his husband close. 

“What now?” Billy asked, grabbing the brandy, and Steve stopped to pull him into a kiss, open mouthed and tasting of long-ago fruit from the liquor. Billy tasted of summer, and Steve closed his eyes, warm and soft between the low heat of the fire, and his husband’s sunshine. He burrowed into Billy’s neck, sliding his arms up the thin woolens they wore to sleep on cold nights, under the thick cloak of the Queensguard. 

“You smell like you dried on the line,” Steve mumbled. “In the sun. Outside.”

“...I didn’t,” Billy whispered back, holding him close, and shaking a little, like he was laughing. 

“Mmm,” Steve sighed, tightening his embrace to feel the soft wool, and the heat of Billy’s muscled weight against him. “Starting over.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Billy asked, letting himself be drawn back towards the door. He had the same tired giggles as before, and Steve kissed his temple, leaning their heads together for a moment before dragging him out the door, and down the hall. 

“Follow the captain to make sure he doesn’t fall and drag his husband down the stairs,” said one of the guards at the door, crisply, and Steve raised his chin and ignored them even as the other one fell into step with them. 

“Celebrating, this time,” Steve sighed, “—properly.”

“Will there be a feast?” Billy whispered, and Steve nodded, smirking at his own forethought. 

“Of course. Our squires will have brought...bread,” he suggested, not wanting to promise anything better, in case it was indeed simply bread. Given Dustin’s disgust earlier, he suspected it might be full of mealworms.

When they reached their rooms, the platter before them bore fruit, fresh bread, and a roast pheasant, and Steve took a relieved breath. “Bless your sister, for my squire certainly didn’t supply _that.”_

“A feast in bed is better than our first feast,” Billy said, waving to the watchful guard as he held the door for Steve and the tray. 

“Mmm,” Steve muttered, sitting the tray on the side-table, and sliding his fingers into Billy’s hair to kiss him again. He grabbed a drumstick—his stomach growled—and he pulled Billy over to his desk. 

Billy mumbled inquisitively into Steve’s mouth as he was hauled around the room, waving a hand at the bed, but Steve handed him the box of replies to Billy’s letters. 

“I also...if you...wish, read these,” Steve told him. “They’re probably not any good, but they’re real, I wrote them.”

Billy was very still, his gaze fixed on the pile, and Steve leaned in to press another kiss to his cheek. 

“My handwriting probably suffered, by the end,” he whispered. “It wasn’t good to start with.”

“...you wrote me letters?” Billy asked, glancing back at the desk as Steve drug him towards the bed, unsteady with exhaustion.

“Read them later,” Steve told him, and Billy’s frown deepened. Steve couldn’t help imagining how Billy would _crow_ over his honest attempts at love letters. “When I’m not around,” Steve hissed, his cheeks heating. 

Billy shot him an alarmed glance, but his mouth quirked—likely at Steve’s hunched shoulders and blushing cheeks—and Steve sighed. 

“I—did not mean to—deceive you,” he groaned, and Billy raised his eyebrows. “My queen—”

Billy rolled his eyes, stalking back towards the pile of letters, but let Steve catch him around the waist. He sighed. “I’ve heard enough about your _queen—”_

Steve tugged him over to the desk, and pushed him into the chair. Billy stared straight ahead, and Steve sat the inkwell next to his hand, then leaned to breathe in his ear. Billy startled, glaring at him, and Steve kissed his open mouth. “There,” he whispered. “Now, try and write a letter of warning, without me seeing. I’ll lean here, with my elbows on the desk—”

Billy snorted, his mouth twitching as he glanced around, and watched Steve bite into his drumstick. “She _stood_ here?”

“Mmf. Or sat _on_ the desk. I tried to write you about tournaments, I thought ‘I’ll challenge him, then I’ll see him, and explain—’”

“She was having none of it?” Billy asked, laughing, and Steve leaned in to lift his husband’s chin into a kiss. His lips were soft and still a little rough from the heat of the chimera’s poison, and warmer, Steve had noticed, the longer he held his husband’s face. 

“She insisted I tell you I loved you,” Steve said, holding Billy’s head still when he tried to duck away. “I should read them to you now. Now they’d be true.”

“Would they?” Billy laughed, biting at Steve’s fingers. “The poems?”

Steve grimaced. “I am sorry about the sonnets—”

“Did you even read them?” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Steve said stoutly. “Yes, I did. And they were the _least awkward to recite,_ when my queen asked which I had chosen.”

“Ohhh,” Billy nodded, sighing. 

“—but the _love declarations,”_ Steve enunciated clearly, “—they’re true. Now.”

“Maybe I’d like to hear them in your words,” Billy said, “—instead of your queen’s,” and Steve frowned at him. Billy laughed. “Am I in love with you, or your queen?” he asked. “I’ve wondered, since you explained the letters. Who told me about the treaties? He’s the captain of the Queensguard, I reasoned, he might be present—but perhaps it was _queen,_ telling the only person she could of her frustration, because who can a queen complain to? Are both of her knights in love with their queen? How courtly.”

“No!" Steve whispered, his eyes wide with horror. "No, no, it—it wasn’t—”

“Who sent me pressed flowers from the fields south of Byerston? They arrived crumpled, but I unfurled them—” Billy cut off, laughing, and pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes reddened. “I—I researched your sketch, I found out their names, I imagined you _thinking_ about me—”

“Billy.”

“What do I do with love letters from the _queen?!”_ Billy shouted, flinching back from Steve’s hand. “Do I _sell_ them? Letters penned by the queen, _pretending_ to be in love with me?”

 _“Billy—”_ Steve said, grabbing his husband’s sleeve, and pulling him close. He'd wakened, a bit, with the way his heart was pounding. “Let me—”

“I have pressed, crumpled flowers in a book by our bed,” Billy laughed. “I imagine sometimes they’re from you.”

Steve kissed him, just a soft peck, but every time Billy opened his mouth and took a breath, he did it again. “Let me speak,” he said, once Billy’s eyes fluttered shut, and he opened his mouth to Steve’s lips. 

Billy nodded, and Steve kissed him again. 

“I wrote them,” he whispered, and Billy’s chin jerked up again. 

“No, you said—”

“She...required I tell you...what I had told her was the truth,” Steve admitted, grimacing. “That I missed you, and loved you, and wished to wed.”

Billy took a shuddering breath, biting his lips, and Steve cupped his chin with both hands, rubbing his thumb along Billy’s lower lip.

“That is three lines, Billy,” Steve whispered. “How many letters did I write you?” 

Billy shoved away. “Don’t—don’t try to make those letters about _me._ They were—they let you spend time with _her.”_

“What?” Steve squinted at him, and then grabbed for him again. “No! Billy, no, listen. I wasn’t—I wasn’t in love, but—” 

Billy made a strangled noise in his throat, shaking his head, and Steve kissed his lips. “I wrote you every night while we traveled,” he whispered, and Billy nodded, wiping his eyes roughly with his sleeve. 

“Y-yeah,” he nodded. “I knew when you never wrote back. Some of it was...travelling. I didn’t know where to send them.”

“I wrote whatever I was thinking at the time,” Steve told him, sighing. “Robin didn’t need to hear how I...questioned—”

“You didn’t care what I thought...of you.”

“I didn’t think you’d read them,” Steve admitted. “I...enjoyed writing you. While m—” Steve paused, awaiting a slow, half-drunken messenger from his own mind. “While _the_ queen,” he corrected, and it felt odd in his mouth to not claim her as his very _own_ monarch. It was worth it, though, to see Billy’s blink and slight smile. “While _the_ queen managed treaties, or undid her royal—” he waved his hand around his head, “—diamonds and—things—behind a _curtain,_ in the royal tent, I would write you. She would wander by, and I'd wave her off.”

Billy bit his lips together, running his fingers over the folded letters, and Steve reached down and lifted his hand to kiss it.

“Do you know the first time I ever told _Her Majesty,_ Queen of the countries of the Wheel, to piss off?”

Billy snorted. “Never?” he asked dryly, and Steve leaned forward to whisper against his husband’s ear.

“It was while writing to you,” he breathed, and Billy shivered. “I didn’t think you’d read them,” he said again, kissing along Billy’s jaw. “I thought you’d refuse me after the first one you opened. I wasn’t trying to…” he laughed, feeling his cheeks heat. “I wrote about whatever I saw, anything I thought, anything that wasn’t a secret of state—”

 _“Why,”_ Billy whispered, shaking his head, but smiling. 

“Billy of Hargrove,” Steve said, moving the box of letters aside, and dropping astride his husband’s lap, “—nobody else _in the world_ has ever wanted to just let me talk.”

“What,” Billy laughed.

“Definitely not someone who wanted to _marry_ me,” Steve told him, sliding his arms around Billy’s neck, and arching their bodies together as Billy took a shuddering breath, leaning his head back against the chair. “You read all that, and you… _loved_ me,” Steve whispered. “How is _that_ possible.”

Billy rubbed his hands up Steve’s ribs, and down to stroke his thumbs over the soft wool covering Steve’s behind. “Mmm,” he said.

“I expected more of your letters to say ‘please stop writing’,” said Steve, humming tunelessly as he ran his thumb gently along Billy’s lower lip. “None of them did. You asked about things.”

“I didn’t know what I’d finally done right,” Billy whispered, “—but I wanted to keep doing it.”

“You used your real name, for one,” Steve huffed. “How was I supposed to know? ‘Dark Knight of the Roses’ indeed.”

“I sent you _roses,”_ Billy hissed, pinching him, and Steve swore, jerking away. Billy yelped as he was squished against the chair, and Steve started laughing. Billy shook his head, smiling. 

“You didn’t tell me it was you,” Steve said, leaning back in to kiss him, lightly. “Every tournament, sending challenges…” he kissed his husband again, “—in disguises—” he laughed against Billy’s lips. “How was I to know?”

“I was in my tent! You could have come and _asked,”_ Billy muttered, red-faced. “Robin came and laughed at me.”

“She knew!” Steve paused, blinking into the middle distance. “And—and Thomas, he knew?”

 _“Everyone knew,”_ Billy hissed. “It was not a secret!”

“I thought it was people challenging me because I’m the captain of the Queensguard,” Steve said thoughtfully, stroking his hands over Billy’s cheeks. “It never occured it was the same man, painting over his shield and picking fights with me.”

“...it wasn’t that strange,” Billy bit out, and Steve snorted a laugh. 

“But it’s good you’re strange,” he said, dropping a few kisses across Billy’s freckles, and feeling them heat. “You’re so strange you wanted to listen to me.”

“Not _so_ strange,” Billy said, and Steve kissed him until he stopped trying to talk. 

“Come to bed,” Steve told him, pulling the letters away, and embracing his husband tightly. “Come and sleep.”

Billy’s eyes lingered on the letters, but he nodded and allowed himself to be drawn away and held while Steve threw the blankets back. He grabbed Steve around the waist and fell backward, yanking Steve off his feet with a startled yell. 

They rolled themselves more into the center of the bed, clumsily yanking the blankets up, and Steve kissed his husband’s face in the darkness under the covers, feeling him laugh, and squirm closer. 

“I liked your letters,” Billy whispered in the warm, close darkness. 

“Even when I described my horse,” Steve snorted, kissing his husband’s cheek while trying to find his mouth in the dark.

“Even then,” Billy mumbled sleepily, and Steve laughed, holding him close.

There was a banging on the door, and Robin leaned in to their room, paused, and yawned, the circles under her eyes probably nearly as dark as Steve’s own. “Her Majesty requests your presence,” she said, and Steve nodded, then realized she was looking at Billy, and she had a slight grimace. “...at your leisure,” she said, when he sat up in bed with a groan, and rubbed his face.

Steve swung his legs out of bed, and she frowned at him, grimacing. “Ah,” he said, watching her, and then frowning over to see Billy’s shoulders hunch.

“Might as well get it over with,” he said, and Steve grabbed his wrist.

“What’s happening?” He glanced at Robin, then back to Billy. “What?”

Robin bit her lips, frowning at Billy, who shook his head.

“No matter,” he said, and Steve got up to walk around and squeeze his husband’s shoulders. 

“Is—are you—is everything—” he tried to ask, and Robin sighed.

They stood there for a long moment, before Billy rubbed his face again, groaning. “Fine. Come along, then. Fine, you’ll— _fine.”_

Robin relaxed, and _winked_ at Steve. He would have been reassured, if Billy’s hand in his wasn’t sweaty and trembling. Billy dressed in silence, glancing over, then looking away when Steve tried to catch his eye. 

“I need a morning kiss,” Steve said hopefully, and Billy smiled, his shoulders loosening as he stepped closer and leaned in. It was hard to imagine, Steve thought, with his hands on his husband, and his lips on his husband’s mouth, that there had been a time he’d have hurried to his queen. 

“I’m sorry,” Billy whispered, flicking a glance at Steve, then down, with a tense grin. “I’m half-wild, after all,” he laughed, and Steve cocked his head in confusion as the knock came on the door again. 

“Is there anything you didn’t tell me,” he asked, cupping Billy’s face, and Billy shook his head.

“...no,” he said hesitantly.

“Then it’s fine,” Steve told him, smacking a kiss on his cheek, and dragging him out to the hall.

The queen was not in her counting house, but she was checking on her treasure, watching while the royal alchemist and bard, Byers, dipped the unicorn horn in various glassware. “...it still works,” he said. She nodded, smiling, and then saw Billy—but her expression didn’t change until she saw _Steve,_ and he was both grateful that the frown didn’t hurt him as it once would have, and wary. Billy snorted a laugh, and Steve realized he’d stepped between his husband and everyone else. 

His queen smiled, a little sadly, and led he, Billy, and Robin to a a small table, where she moved a diamond scepter aside, and dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh. She kicked off her shoes. Billy waited, tense and ready as a drawn bowstring at Steve’s side, and Steve bit his lips together, trying to resist the urge to shake _everyone,_ and demand answers. Her Majesty steepled her fingers, regarding Billy. “You are well?”

“He’s been arrested for...inciting the chimera,” Billy said hoarsely. “—and rebellion. He’s to be...” he cleared his throat, and went on hoarsely, “--executed this morning.”

“What,” Steve whispered, squeezing his husband’s shaking, sweaty hand.

“You have done a great service to the crown,” Nancy said, and Billy snorted, setting his jaw. “...we are extremely grateful. Do you still wish to keep it between us?” She waved to Alchemist Byers, who brought over the two horns—now cleaned—on a velvet pillow.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Billy gritted out, and Steve registered that both Robin and his queen were waiting for Billy’s preference, while he curled in on himself like a porcupine. 

“...your husband came to us that first day,” said Robin. “He said he had information about...a treasonous plot to…”

“I told them I had been sent to spy,” Billy said, shrugging, his smile forced. “I’ve followed their orders since.”

“We would give you public honors,” said the queen. “At a ceremony.”

Alchemist Byers grinned. “Thirteen feet tall,” he read resonantly, “—and six feet abreast—”

Steve squeezed Billy’s hand, biting back a smile at the exaggeration, but mostly at the idea of having Billy at his side, receiving honors. 

Billy’s hand closed hard on his, cold and a little sweaty. “Mmn,” he said.

“I wanted to personally thank you both, and...ask,” said Her Royal Majesty, Queen of the Countries of the Wheel, but she looked a little preoccupied, Steve couldn’t help thinking. “Also, there’s...another matter.”

The Herald began again, more quietly, and Steve realized he was practicing the speech. “What is going on?” he asked, then flushed at his own familiarity. “My queen.”

“Your father has been detained for treason,” the queen told his husband, and Steve stumbled over his own tongue as he swallowed back his interruption. “His attempts at conscription have been derailed, and the ambassador is safe. Thank you for your information, and aid in this matter.”

Billy nodded, and Steve stared.

“You and yours are under our protection,” she continued, grimacing. “Particularly your squire, Max. We have arranged safe passage for her mother.” 

Billy drew a shaky breath, nodding.

“She may no longer be used as _...leverage_ against you,” said the queen, and Billy nodded again, wiping his eyes. “You have no need of...connections made only in the name of safety,” the queen said, gently, and Steve felt like he’d swallowed more than an interruption. 

“Whatever you choose to do,” Robin put in, glancing down at Steve’s outstretched hand, and biting her lips together.

“Your actions were out of desperation, and we hold no grudge,” Steve’s queen said, but she was watching him, not Billy. “—but we thought it...advisable,” she said, wincing, and exchanging a glance with Robin, “—to...ask, before celebrating the heroism of your union tonight, do you wish to—”

“Do you want to continue this marriage,” Robin interjected, and Billy started laughing, high-pitched and unsteady.

Nancy sighed, opening her mouth, and Steve grabbed Billy’s shoulder, yanking both Billy’s hands to him, and taking a deep breath. 

Billy’s eyes gleamed with tears over his smirk. 

“Is it a farce?” Steve asked, and Billy shrugged his shoulders, watching their clasped hands.

“Is it?” he replied hoarsely, and Steve frowned, thinking.

He clasped his fist to his heart. “In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” Steve said, thinking rapidly, and stealing liberally from his oath of knighthood, “I pledge myself, from now and forever, to this man, William of Hargrove. I declare to take freely and solemnly an oath of—of—” Steve stopped to think, as Billy stared at him, his eyes starting to shine with tears. “—an oath to love, honor, and—and trust. With this oath I state my strong and irrevocable intent to pledge my sword, my forces, my life and everything that I own to the—the love, defence, honour and further knowledge of—of this man, my husband,” he whispered, feeling Billy’s hands tighten on his. 

Billy swallowed hard, setting his jaw. 

“To love him and help him, his loved ones and friends with my sword, my advice, means and wealth, my credit and everything in my power, and favour him, with no exception. In freedom of mind and body I do...wish that...this man be mine,” Steve said, dispensing all the parts about spreading the word of God, and squeezing Billy’s shaking hands. “What say you, William of Hargrove?”

Billy swallowed, biting his lips together, and glanced at the throne. “...tell me what to say,” he said under his breath, his lips barely moving. “Do you want me to refuse,” he whispered, swallowing back tears.

“Say _yes,”_ Steve hissed back, glaring, and Billy snorted a wet-sounding laugh. “If—if you want to. Only if you want to.”

“Then why didn’t you have _me_ ask,” Billy hissed back. “You _know_ what I want. What I’ve _always_ wanted—”

“Then _ask_ me!” Steve told him, loud enough that he saw Robin’s eyebrows raise out of the corner of his eye. Billy tugged at their linked hands to wipe his nose on his own wrist, and Steve waited, then stepped closer and whispered, “Ask me.”

“If you tell me no, I—I’ll—” Billy laughed again, and tears welled up in his eyes as Steve grabbed his face.

“Ask me already,” he told his husband, who was starting to _giggle._ “Billy,” Steve growled. “Stop laughing, and—”

“I don’t know,” Billy grinned at him, leaning in for a kiss, which Steve submitted to with bad grace, though he couldn’t help quirking his mouth at Billy’s smile. “Maybe I should make you ride for days,” Billy whispered. “...forget all about you—”

“You looked different at school,” Steve hissed, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t _forget_ you, exactly, I had no idea you were—”

“I should make you beg for it, this time,” Billy said, and Steve sighed and dropped to one knee, which led to Billy trying to yank him back up by the hands, apologizing profusely to Steve’s queen and her guard. “I didn’t mean it! Get up,” he muttered. “Get up, stop, get up—”

“Please marry me,” Steve asked imploringly, holding Billy’s hands and belt so he couldn’t flee. “My love. My own, my—my shepherd’s pie,” he begged, as Billy tried not to lose his balance laughing. The other people in the room had stopped speaking, probably out of disbelief watching Billy try not to tip over as his husband, the honorable and renowned captain of the guard, threw both arms around his hips and sang his praises. “My, ah, my—my venison chop, my hot cross bun—”

“Stop! Stop!” Billy snickered, wiping his eyes. “Stop, stand up—”

“Not—not until you _bless_ me with your—”

“Stop!” Billy wheezed, glancing warily at Steve’s queen, who was trying to hide a wide smile.

“Billy,” Steve said, yanking his husband’s knees so Billy yelled, and fell to kneel astride Steve’s lap, their faces almost touching. “Marry me _forever._ No lies.”

“No lies,” Billy repeated, leaning to try and kiss Steve’s hair.

Steve let go enough to look up. “Stay married to me? Say yes.”

“...yes,” Billy mumbled, groaning into his hand, but Steve could see his grin. 

“We can have two ceremonies at once, a wedding with...medals. Honoring you for fighting the chimera,” announced the queen, smiling so brightly he loved her, for a moment, nearly as much as he loved Billy Hargrove. 

Steve grappled his husband close, yanking him around enough to hear him laugh, and then kissing his hair, before stopping to clasp both hands around Billy’s jaw. “You have to say yes, at the ceremony,” he said seriously, squishing his husband's smile. “Unless you don’t want me.”

Billy nodded, leaning to breathe shakily against Steve’s shoulder. “Your proposal helped me save my sister,” he whispered, “—but that—that is not why I rode for days to see you. Before y-before I was asked to come. You were strange in the letters, I thought—I thought if I could speak to you—”

“You could find out what was happening?” Steve whispered back, embracing him to feel the tight muscles of his shoulders. He kissed the side of his husband’s neck. “...thank you for waiting,” Steve said, sighing.

“You’re _slow,”_ Billy hissed back, his voice cracking. 

“I will be faster, when next someone wishes to marry me—” Steve told him, laughing, and Billy punched him in the ribs.

“I am not allowing a _harem,”_ he hissed, but Steve was laughing too hard to respond. 

Steve awoke to the sensation of frost in his nostrils, and a chill, possibly evil wind between his toes, brushing at the hairs on his leg. “Mmph!” he whined, yanking his leg under the coverlet, whereupon Billy squawked, and shoved him back over with both feet.

“Get out of here, Jack Frost,” he hissed, and Steve huffed, yanking at the blankets.

“Let me in!” Steve growled back. “It’s freezing!”

“Stir up the fire!” Billy growled, kicking out until Steve staggered out of bed rather than land ass-first on the slate floor. 

_“You_ stir it up,” Steve muttered, stomping and shivering over to jab at the smoldering ends of the log he’d thrown in before bed. He jabbed some thinner pieces of wood into the low, glowing flames, and waited for the fire to lick around before adding another log. “Won’t even warm me up. Some husband you are.”

“Your lying letters didn’t mention you were an ice-beast of the frozen north,” Billy mumbled through the blanket, and Steve snorted, wandering around and pulling the curtains as the flames leapt up the bark of the new fuel. 

“Threw me out of our marriage bed,” Steve sighed. “I love you no more.”

“Oh, yes you do,” Billy spat, then went still for a long moment, before pushing himself up on his elbows, squinting into the light as Steve forgot how cold he was, and ran to jump onto Billy’s side of the bed, crawling up over the mounds of wool and down to press kisses all over his husband’s face. 

Billy rubbed his face sleepily, then narrowed his eyes. 

“You know I love you,” Steve said, beaming, and Billy groaned. 

“...idiot.”

“You know I am,” Steve agreed, letting himself fall forward again to kiss Billy’s cheek, and mouth, and nose, and even his eyebrows before Billy shoved him away, laughing. “I love you,” Steve whispered.

“I know,” Billy mumbled, smiling. “Come back under the covers, before you freeze.”

“Gladly, my own,” Steve said, hopping down off the bed, and crawling up under the side of the blanket, and curling around his husband as he squawked and gasped, trying to wriggle away from Steve’s shivering flesh.

“I don’t want you anymore,” he groaned, and Steve squeezed him, humming happily. Billy squirmed around in his arms to embrace him in return, sighing contentedly. “You don’t deserve me,” he whispered, shuddering without scooting away as Steve wrapped his goosebumped legs aroung Billy’s.

“That’s always been true,” Steve whispered back, and Billy laughed. “Does it change anything?” Steve asked, sliding his now-warm hand around the back of Billy’s ribs, and up his shoulder blades. 

“...not if you don’t want it to,” Billy murmured, squirming closer. “Never.”

“No,” Steve shook his head, burrowing his head closer to kiss Billy’s warm mouth, and feel him grin. “I never want you to change.”

“I will,” Billy whispered. “I’m not immortal—”

Steve kissed him again, and whispered back, “I want you to always be you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! Lemme know if you liked my story--I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Thanks so, so much! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
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